


Climate change

by Erasmus_Jones



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anthea warning, BAMF Mycroft, Breakfast, Cameras, Classical Music, Comfort, Dark Mycroft, Domesticity, F/M, Family, Interrogation, Laughter, Living Together, Mollcroft, Rescue, Sexy Times, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Smut, anthea/greg, family times, greg lestrade/anthea(sherlock), kidnap, looking after each other, molly anchors mycroft, plot to kidnap, sleepy, toby - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 188,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erasmus_Jones/pseuds/Erasmus_Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unknown force invades the lives of our Family.  Seemingly aimed at causing Mycroft pain, a plot emerges that causes the family to pull together and utilise their combined skills. The plot runs side by side with an exploration of family dynamics as I see them. Bamf Mycroft makes an appearance on more than one occasion and sections may not be for the weak of stomach. There are sweet moments and sexy moments for each of the pairings. Plot focussed but I can't seem to write a story without someone being ravished at some point, or many points so if you're put off by that I apologise.  Please note I can get pretty explicit, though I think it fits the plot and isn't just thrown in randomly. </p><p>The main pairings are Mycroft and Molly, Sherlock and John, and Anthea and Greg. As per the rating expect some rather x rated moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Later

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I own none of the characters or anything, I just want to steal them for a little while.

“How did Sherlock recognise her from, not her face?” 

Molly asked. Mycroft merely smirked and turned to follow his brother.

“Later Molly dearest, later” 

He promised as he swept through the doors to the corridor.  
Molly busied herself returning the body to its refrigerated bed. Tricky bastard she thought, wondering what time “later” might mean this time. His minor position in the government kept him busy. She didn't ask more but she had her suspicions. She may not have the deductive powers of The Holmes Brothers but it didn't mean she was oblivious to the world outside of her pathology suite.

Glancing around the morgue, she moved to check everything was where it should be before she left for the night. Her back to the door she jumped slightly when the doors were pushed open. She spun around, a look of concern on her face when she saw Mycroft striding back towards her.

“What’s wrong?” 

She called out, apprehension showing on her face. She watched him stalk towards her, displaying a flair for the dramatic so like his brother. Which he would deny vehemently, should she dare to mention it again. Ah the Holmes brothers so alike and both so very extraordinary.  
Halting in front of her, he reached forwards pulling her the last step with his hands fisted in her lab coat. With a slight stumble she folded into his chest wrapping her arms around his waist under his coat and suit jacket. His arms holding her tightly, he brought his chin to rest atop her head.

“Will you wait for me? The matters that demand my intervention should not keep me too long.” 

He turned his head to breathe in the scent of her hair, drawing it deep into his lungs.  
He smelt faintly of smoke, it mingled with the ever present rich warm scent that was uniquely him. It made her want to bury her face in his neck and never move. She mumbled into his waistcoat

“How late are we talking? I know, I know. Who knows. It’s a good job Mycroft Holmes that I just can’t say no to you” 

Snuggling closer she smiled.

“Marvellous, you are nearly ready to depart”

“You know what? That almost sounded like a question. You really are trying. Yes I’m ready to go, just got to grab my things from my office. Come with me?”

“If I do you know what will happen. Though there is nothing I would like more at this moment. I fear any delay now would negatively impact on our time this evening.”

Molly chuckled and pulled back from his chest. Releasing her arms, she looked up to Mycroft’s face. She saw the lust in his eyes as he gazed down. Mr Unflappable was wavering.

“Molly I warn you, do not. I know that look Ms Hooper, however, I am not to be swayed. Get your things I’ll leave the car for you. Go get Toby and take him to the house, you have the keys. I’ll be home later.“

He spun her towards the doors, propelling her forwards and following close behind.

“Mush woman” 

He grinned at her squeak as he smacked her rear. At the lift he pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

“Go quickly before I change my mind. Such a beautiful distraction you are my Molly.”

He placed her in the lift and watched the doors close. Time waits for no man, if he wanted to be home any time soon he had best get this moving. Ignoring his arousal he strode towards the exit where his car waited. Its partner already idled at the curb by the main doors waiting to take Molly. He still could not believe it if he was honest with himself. Beautiful, warm, honest, kind Molly wanted him, the Ice Man. Yes he was cold and detached. His job demanded it of him. There could be no room for emotions when making the decisions he was tasked with. Except he found himself to be different when he was included in her world, she warmed him. Less weighted, less serious, Molly was balm that calmed him and quietened his mind. She made him want more, more of everything with her and her alone. Of course with the warmth she brought to him she also brought out his extremely protective nature. There were few people Mycroft truly respected or cared for enough to worry for them. Molly had woven herself into his life and quite probably his heart, so thoroughly was she entrenched he doubted anything could remove her. Accordingly, he worried about the dangers laid at her door because of her association with him. He made her vulnerable. Consequently he attached a security detail to her and upped her surveillance status. He would take no chances, simply refusing to allow harm to come to her. A better man would walk away to keep her safe. Mycroft was too selfish; there would be no walking away. Only holding close and keeping the danger away.

Pushing through the exit, he entered through the open door of the large black car waiting for him. Anthea slid in behind him closing the door behind her “Sir”

“Make sure she is safe, one tail car as well as James. Also check her address, should anything appear suspicious you are to bring it to me immediately.”

“Sir”

Replied Anthea tapping away at her blackberry. Mycroft’s car carried him into the late afternoon traffic towards his office and mountain of work awaiting his decisions. Anthea, not looking up from her phone did however see the small smile on her boss’ face before he pulled on his cold mask. She continued to issue his orders via her phone, ever efficient she had seen this coming and was already working it all out.

Molly wandered to her office more than a little distracted. Fingers to her smiling lips she had to hold in her joyous emotions. Failing at the last moment as she pirouetted in the corridor before throwing open the door to her office. Grabbing her coat and bag she headed for the exit.


	2. Kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Molly meets Mycroft.

She wasn't quite sure how everything had changed so quickly. Mycroft had moved from the untouchable figure to such a vital part of her heart so swiftly, frankly it was all a bit of a surprise. Everyone assumed she had her heart set on the younger Holmes brother. How very wrong they were. Yes she thought what he did was astounding and was in awe of his mind, but that wasn't it. Everyone new that where Sherlock went chaos was sure to be on his heels and following behind came Mycroft eventually. He was very protective of his brother and well used to intervening when feathers were ruffled, or in his quest for the truth pushed the boundaries a little too much and found himself in need of help. So Molly waited, constantly on hand allowing Sherlock whatever he needed. Sherlock was her opportunity, she just had to be there and eventually she would get to see Mycroft.

The first time she met Mycroft he’d kidnapped her. Taken from St Barts in a big black car by a dark haired woman and a large man in a suit, she wasn’t manhandled and she wasn’t blind folded. She figured she was either safe or she was about to die. The woman introduced herself as Anthea, her smirk suggesting it was probably not her real name.

“Miss Hooper, we’re not here to harm you. Quite the opposite actually, we are only to escort you to a meeting.”

Molly huffed but didn’t speak. What could the government (because seriously, big black cars, fake names, ear pieces with curly wires it was either them or someone really trying too hard) want with the small mousy pathologist from St Barts. She tried to think about the bodies which had passed over her table recently but nothing stood out as unusual, nothing that screamed foul play at least. None that is, not already been noted by the police. With a resigned sigh she sat back, looking out of the window watching London pass by. She couldn’t deny it was a little exciting and her interest had been peaked.

The car stopped in front of an old warehouse out past the docklands. A pretty nondescript building, it had seen better days but it was quiet and the area seemed deserted. The woman called Anthea didn’t look up 

“Just inside Miss Hooper”

The car door opened and Molly steeled herself and exited the car. She squared her shoulders looked at the man mountain holding the door and raised her eyebrows in question.

“Straight on that way” 

With a nod of his head, he indicated towards the warehouse door ahead of her. Well it was now or never so she walked to the large sliding door, pulled it open only enough to allow her entry and walked across the wet concrete floor.

Glancing around Molly saw no one. The warehouse was empty, turning in a slow circle she was started that standing not so far away was a man, an impeccably dressed man. Wearing a three piece suit and carrying an umbrella. Though startled she snorted a laugh. 

“Did you have to run to be standing there looking all intimidating by the time I turned around?” 

His features betrayed nothing and she cursed inwardly. This is probably a great time to keep your mouth shut Molly. She refused to be cowed though.

“What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?”

“Excuse me?” 

There was no reason to be rude, manners didn’t cost anything after all.

“I spoke quite clearly Miss Hooper. I do not like to repeat myself. What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?”

Sherlock? This was about him? Really? 

“Sorry who?” 

Molly didn’t throw people under the bus, not her way. But who the hell had he crossed now?

“Don’t be obtuse Miss Hooper, you have been observed with Sherlock Holmes. What is your connection?”

She could see in his face a slight exasperation. For someone who didn’t repeat themselves she was doing an admirable job of making him. Probably not the wisest thing to do if she was honest, she could disappear and never be seen from again. But seriously they were watching her? Of all the bloody cheek.

“Care to explain observed?”

The man shifted slightly, bringing the umbrella to his front and resting both of his hands on it. He leant forwards slightly. 

“Watched Miss Hooper. Sherlock enters the hospital where you work. He visits you, spends a considerable time in your presence and leaves often excitable and flushed. So I repeat again. What is your connection?”

Ok, she thought. You put it like that and it did sound a lot different to what was actually going on.

“Has he convinced you to supply him with narcotics? What are you providing Miss Hooper and do not lie to me”

She couldn't exactly deny she knew him if he had this much information. 

“What is YOUR connection to him? Explain to me why I should tell you anything at all?”

“I worry about him, constantly. I am here simply to warn you madam, that this behaviour shall not be tolerated. You are to cease providing stimulants to Sherlock Holmes. You shall not engage with him. Do you understand? I do not know you are profiting from this association but you will neither supply not take advantage of Sherlock Holmes from this moment on. Do I make myself clear?”

What the hell? Supplying drugs? Molly didn’t even have anything to do with drugs at the hospital. When people got to her they were past needing them, it was already too late. Sure she could get them from other parts of the hospital if she had a mind to but, really? Where the hell did this man get off accusing her of being a drug dealer? It was new, someone thinking she was taking advantage of someone else. Laughable really, she was Molly Hooper, the one everyone walked over. Not like she did anything to stop them. It was easier to just allow it and get on with what she was doing anyway. Her slow to rise temper was beginning to make itself known. 

“Drugs? Are you out of your damn mind? He just comes to see the bodies and I don’t appreciate you assuming my involvement with Sherlock relies on me getting anything from the bargain. I help Sherlock because he is my friend”

Sherlock came to the hospital to conduct experiments. Some disturbing, some baffling but they always had a purpose. His mind was extraordinary, Molly loved to watch him work, to watch him make his deductions left her in awe. To see his mind at work she did what she could to help.

When she had first met him she suspected he was a recovering addict, he was just too much of everything. There were times she’d seen him and he was fine, still energetic and different but there were others when he came to her and he was just a little to keyed, unfocussed. She guessed they were times when he was struggling with want. She recognised the signs, had seen them before, this time she wouldn't stand back and ignore when she could help distract him. She’d found him in Mike Stamford’s teaching lab fidgeting with his eyes pressed to a microscope, mumbling about the quality of a tissue sample. They had talked and she had agreed to provide a sample from a fresh cadaver in the morgue. It had all escalated from there really and now there was rarely a week that she didn't see him at least once. True he had to sneak in and out, it wasn't exactly normal procedure to have someone coming in conducting experiments on people in the basement. There was nothing terribly illegal about it. More a blurring of the lines really, she probably shouldn't help but he pleaded so well. Manipulating her to get what he wanted. She didn't think he realised she knew but she didn't stop him. He worked on bodies donated to science not just any of the bodies that came through her doors. She was very strict about that. She might not exactly have the permission of those on high but it was her morgue so she used her discretion.  
The man closed his eyes with a sigh

“He comes to see the bodies? He has returned to his experiments I assume?”

Well this was interesting, the man knew about the experiments. From the sound of it he had known Sherlock for a while.

“He conducts experiments, yes”

“Miss Hooper, thank you for your time.” 

He moved to walk around her and leave. Stopping short and turning back.

“My apologies Ms Hooper, but understand I take matters concerning my brother very seriously” 

He strolled towards the exit. What? His brother? Of course why hadn't she seen it? The presence of each man was so similar, how could it have been anything else but a familial relationship? While she admitted this whole situation had been a little strong handed, now knowing he was Sherlock’s brother made this actually rather touching, though Molly thought a little over the top. But for family you did what you had to do. She spoke to his back.

“He’s clean you know? Not using. I know the signs, he’s doing well. I help where I can, keep him distracted with body parts. Not mine you understand. Mine stay under clothes.” 

Molly could feel her cheeks heating. She'd been doing so well during the meeting she was a little annoyed to be back to herself. He didn't turn around but hesitated a moment longer 

“Thank you Miss Hooper. When you are ready a car will be waiting to take you home. I'll be in touch”

Well at least he wasn't leaving her here. She took one last look around the warehouse. Very strange, he could have just come to speak to her at work. No need to kidnap her, and be all enigmatic. A lot like his brother this other Holmes. What did he mean by be in touch? She didn't even know his name. Mr Holmes it is then. Perhaps she'd speak to Sherlock, see if she could get him to answer some questions. She'd give him something, he could definitely work a three piece suit. And that walk? There was a definite swagger there. Molly bit her lip, and turned to head back to the car outside, smiling. Can you get Stockholm syndrome in less than 20 Minutes?


	3. The eye in the sky

It was much more convenient having a chauffeur at your disposal than trying to navigate public transport or paying for a taxi she thought with a giggle. She’d fought it at first, was used to taking care of herself, but the distress it caused Mycroft made her rethink her decision. He liked to know she was safe and while some might see it as an effort to control her, she knew he was genuinely worried for her safety.

Although she didn’t have all the details she knew he had a dangerous job. He may spend a lot of time behind his desk nowadays but the scars he carried suggested that had not always been the case. Most white with age, some still pink and angry. When he returns from extended work trips she makes sure to catalogue any new ones. Pressing healing kisses to any new marks on his skin. It’s part of their routine now, reconnecting and reaffirming their relationship. It helps them both to deal with what he does.  
Stepping through the main doors of St Barts she sees the car immediately, as usual idling on the double yellow lines. The rules were apparently flexible for some people. James, her usual driver stood holding the door for her. 

“Good afternoon Ms Hooper”. 

“Hi James and it’s Molly, but then you are never actually going to call me Molly are you so it’s a bit of a waste of time me keeping insisting isn’t it really? Did you get the instructions?”

She asked with a smile. Knowing full well he would have received a message advising him of the plans. 

“Yes Ms Hooper, I am to take you to get Toby then take you home.” 

Molly nodded, smiled again and got in the car. James shut the door, looked up at the tail car, nodded and resumed his position behind the wheel.

It never occurred to Molly to question Mycroft referring to his house as home. Yes she had her flat but she and Toby spent much more time at Mycroft’s now. It was home. Toby had settled in with Mycroft quite happily. Though Mycroft may occasionally whine about cat hair on his suits, she’d come across the pair of them asleep on the sofa on more than one occasion. Toby quite happily sprawled on his chest and Mycroft’s hand still touching his head where he’d fallen asleep scratching between Toby’s ears. She loved finding Mycroft relaxed, too often when he slept he still looked so tense. Molly liked to watch him sleep, not something she got to do that frequently as he often came in later than her. She wouldn’t hear him come in, but she would wake up in his arms extremely contented. Who would have thought Mycroft would be quite so tactile?

They reached the flat quickly and she darted from the car not waiting for James to open the door, she knew it frustrated him but she wanted to be quick. She spotted the black car pulling over at the end of the road but didn’t really pay it any attention. Mycroft must be feeling particularly anxious, she only got the extra security when there was something troubling him more than usual. She didn’t know if they were aware she knew they were there, but she saw them. Just chose not to make a big deal of it. Once in the flat she grabbed Toby and put him in his carrier, he didn’t fight it any more so used to the journey that he went quite happily. She stood in the middle of the front room turning in a circle trying to work out if she needed to take anything else with her. She realised that there wasn’t actually that much left. Gradually her belongings had migrated to live side by side with Mycroft’s. She hadn’t really noticed it had happened just one thing at a time and suddenly her flat was almost empty of personality. There was no heart here because it had moved, now it lived with Mycroft. He had her heart that was the crux of it. She had given it to him for safe keeping, and he held it and surrounded it with himself. He opened his home to her, his private domain. His home had been uniquely him and now? Well now it’s them. The way they fit so easily without conflict, just a pure mixing of two people changing and becoming something new and stronger. Giddy with joy she grabbed the carrier and flew down the stairs, startling James as she hurtled through the door shouting and laughing 

“Home James and don’t spare the horses!” 

As she dove in to the back of the car. Toby gave mewl of protest at the rough journey.

“Sorry baby it’s OK we’re going to daddy’s”. 

Then they were moving suspiciously easily through the London traffic meeting a lot of green traffic lights on the way. More she though than was probably chance.  
She struggled up the steps to the large white Georgian house, waving James away when he went to help with Toby’s carrier. 

“It’s ok, I’ve got it. No worries James and thank you” 

Rifling through her bag for the keys. As she stood there elbow deep in her bag rummaging around the bottom searching for the elusive keys for a few minutes getting more and more agitated she heard the door give a click and open slightly. She looked up at the camera above the door and raised an eyebrow and blushing removed her arm from the bag and blew him a kiss shouldering her way into the foyer. She let Toby out and placed her bag on the side table, this time digging for her phone to send a message.

You Sir are supposed to be working, not watching me being disorganised, - Mol xx

Leaving her bag on the side and taking off her coat she wandered towards the kitchen flipping light switches as she went. She saw Toby disappear through the door to Mycroft’s study, likely going to curl up on the chair by the fireplace. Her phone beeped in her hand.

 

You Madam should have let James help. Perhaps then you would have been able to locate that ridiculously large bunch of keys in that TARDIS you call a handbag. Also I do so enjoy watching you – Yours

He really was a tease. Taking a cold bottle of water from the fridge she pressed it to her heated cheeks. Biting her lip she tapped out her response.

Behave My, You’ve got work to do. Work you need to do in a timely manner, so that instead of just watching you can actually participate. Even if I do love you watching, which I believe you remember quite well. I prefer you here, you know that. – Mol xx

The time they had together could sometimes be short, but they made the most of it. They kept in contact by message or spoke by phone daily if they couldn’t actually see each other. Even when he was away he made sure to get message to her through Anthea. Just small messages to let her know he was ok. Anthea had gone from kidnapper to confidant and friend. She cared for Mycroft and looked out for him. If Molly hadn’t known she was very happy with her partner she might have been worried.

Hi A, can you do me a favour please? Make sure he eats something? He’s as bad as Sherlock when he’s sat at his desk. Oh and drinks next week? – Mol x

With his dinner arranged, she could set about making something for herself. Her phone rang as she stood holding the fridge door open staring blankly at the shelves. She didn’t need to look to see who it was just answering it.

“Hello love, are you working hard?” 

There was a low growl at the end of the line that made Molly shiver.

“Well something is most definitely hard”. 

She chuckled at the husky depth of his voice. 

“Why Mr Holmes, are you ok?”   
There was a moment’s pause before he spoke again.

“God Molly, you will be the death of me. I want to be home with you right this moment”.

She could hear the touch of desperation in his voice and took pity on him. 

“I’m not going anywhere My, I’ll be here in your home when you’re done saving the world. Now go eat your dinner and don’t go giving Anthea a hard time. Oh and don’t eat desert, I’ll have that waiting for you when you get home”.

He groaned down the phone. 

“Our home Molly, yours and mine together”. 

She shut the fridge, leaning her forehead against the cool metal. 

“Ours, I like that. Go save the world so you can come home. You can always check on me later, I don’t mind.” 

She couldn’t help the smile playing over her lips. He’d called it their home. 

“I love you Molly, I’ll look in on you later. Now if I’m ever going to get this sorted I’m going to have to go.” 

She could still hear him breathing on the other end of the phone. 

“I love you too but you actually have to hang up to get back to work dear. I’ll do it for you. I’ll see you tonight. Go eat say hi to Anthea for me. Love you” 

With that she hung up. Truthfully she was as bad as him but one of them had to be the first to hang up. If she didn’t he’d stay on the phone all night. Shoving her phone in her pocket she opened the fridge again, actually focusing on what it contained this time. She eyed the cake sitting on the top shelf and decided she’d have to thank Mrs Heatheridge the part time housekeeper. Perhaps there would be several types of desert on the menu tonight. For now she grabbed the things she needed to make fresh soup. She could have some for herself now and leave the rest for My when he got in if he was peckish. Pulling the soup together quickly she set it to simmer gently on the stove. Leaving it to care for itself for a while she went to light the fire in the study. Her phone beeped as she moved down the hall.

No worries, dinner sorted,he’s eating now. Yes to drinks next week, will work out a time. Speak to you later – A xx

She smiled but didn’t reply to the message. There was no need, she’d speak to Anthea later on to arrange drinks and if My was busy so was she. She walked intothe study, there she found Toby, on his back hanging head first off the edge of Mycroft’s chair. 

“What on earth are you doing you mad cat?” 

She scratched his belly and shoved him purring back on to the chair before he slid off completely.She looked down at the wood stacked in the grate. She wasn’t the best at this but she wanted it cosy and snug when she settled in to read. Luckily someone, probably My himself had already set the fire and all she had to do was get it started. Now where would she find the long matches? She glanced around the room. If I were matches where would I be? It would probably be more helpful to think like My but she might as well give up now on that one. Facing the fire again she spotted them on the mantle. Ok that was probably the most logical and “Mycroft” place for them to be. Crouching down, she struck the match touching the flame to the newspaper placed between the logs. Knowing Mycroft, the angle of the wood and the placement of the paper was probably perfectly calculated, she was just happy when the flames took and she hadn’t burnt herself. Before she’d practically moved in to the large house she’d never had to cope with a real fire. Her childhood home had a gas fire and her flat had a fancy electric fire that she barely used because of the central heating. There was a certain cosiness to a real fire, buried in the giant sofa wide enough for two listening to the cracking of the wood crackle and pop, watching the play of light from the flames flicker around the room. 

The study was one of her favourite places in the world. Walls lined with dark wooden bookshelves, ones built in and original to the house. Bookshelves full to bursting with a combination of both of their tomes. Space made without hesitation for her medical texts and the books she read for pleasure, he didn’t even bat an eye when she brought in the Well-worn paperbacks to sit amongst his extensive collection. The dark oak floor was covered with richly coloured rugs under the desk and with the sofa and chairs by the fire so you could sit without shoes at either and not get frozen feet. Hunter green damask walls and the whole room surrounded you like a hug. The whole room screamed cosy and comfy. There was a superb sound system installed in the room, allowing music to fill the room. My possessed a large music collection, mostly classical but Molly loved overwhelming sounds of a full orchestra and anything played on the cello or piano. When she sat in this room it felt like he was all around her, his arms holding her close as she slipped in to sleep. It was here she felt closest to him outside of their bed. They spent a lot of time here whether it was together or separately.

Making her way back to the kitchen she busied herself with dinner. Eyes getting heavy she sat at the counter to eat rather than sit in the dining room on her own. After cleaning the kitchen she headed back to the sofa calling her name. She clicked play on the stereo not bothering to change the disk just to listen to whatever Mycroft had been listening to last. The London Philharmonic started to play Brahms, the music lulling her in to such a relaxed state her eyes soon started to close. Toby jumped up to join her his little body tucking in next to her side

“Hi little man”

She mumbled slowly drifting off to sleep.

Mycroft sat at his desk, papers piled around him waiting for his attention. But he was allowing himself five minutes to calm his mind before the next wave of people came through his door needing him to make decisions. He pulled up the window for the house surveillance inputting his sixteen digit password and searched the cameras for Molly. He found her fast asleep in the study. He clicked the button for sound and heard the strains of Brahms playing gently in the background. Molly took his breath away each time he saw her, his Molly. Unlike most people she didn’t give in to his demands. She pushed back when he became stubborn, not letting him get away with anything. She was the perfect counterbalance to his work life and filled the house with life. Before she had moved in, the house was just a house. Now it was alive, revived by her mere presence. A home full of laughter and love, no longer was it just he moving through silent rooms. More often than not he’d find friends and his brother in their home. Impromptu dinner parties or just calling in for a catch up, people gravitated to wherever Molly was. Just to be in her company for a short time made people feel calm and loved. She was a natural carer who always had time for others, especially for him and he had never been more grateful for anything in his life. With a last look at her sleeping form he whispered into the microphone connected to the speakers in the house.

“Sleep tight Molly dearest, I’ll be there when you wake up”.

Molly smiled in her sleep and buried further into the cushions. Smiling, he closed the picture just as Anthea knocked on his door and entered the office. Duty called.

“Sir we have Germany on the phone and America waiting on instructions”

“Put Germany through that should be the quickest, tell America I’ll call them back in 10 with the information they need and can someone bring coffee?”


	4. Homeward bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft thinking of Molly and remembering their first meeting. Also thinking of the effect she has had on his life. I promise I'm getting to the boarder line smut, but I am actually enjoying exploring this.

It was the middle of the night by the time Mycroft was able to leave the office. The crisis if not over, had at least reached a point it could be dealt with by his staff. They had instructions not to call him unless it escalated again. Anthea would make sure his instructions were followed and make the decision if he should be called again. He would call later in the morning for a report.

He'd checked on Molly several times through the night, she had not moved from the sofa remaining deeply asleep. He was bone tired as he walked to the car waiting to spirit him home. He slumped in a very non Mycroft fashion in the back seat, unable to remember the last time he had slept in his own bed. A few days at least, fuelled by naps caught in his office. Now he was going home and that was what mattered. He leant his head against the seat, battling to keep his eyes open. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off he would crash and hard by the feel of it. He imagined what Molly would say if she saw him, most likely admonishing him for not taking better care of himself while shooing him towards bed. Thoughts of her filled his mind as the car sped through the light London traffic carrying him to her side.

The innocence with which Molly viewed the world, despite all she saw and knew astounded him. Her positivity and joy at life shone brightly within her, infectious to all those who gravitated towards her. He on the other hand was cold and closed off from everyone upon meeting her found himself craving her attention. He lived for those moments when she gifted him with one of her heart warming smiles, in those few moments his hope was renewed. She made him believe, for a short while that the world was not just comprised of the negative depravity that he saw day to day. She was optimism, beauty and intelligence. People often dismissed Molly, too often fooled by her nervous clumsy countenance and gentle personality. 

His Molly had a backbone of steel when she chose to stand up for something, her mind quick, intelligent and observant. She saw people, saw what they didn't realise could be seen, things they didn't want to display for the world. She saw pain and anguish in a person, doing everything in her power to help them, to fix them. When Molly had her mind set on something there was nothing that could make her let go. Much to his surprise Molly had wanted him and despite his usual ability to keep people at a distance, she had instead breached his defences and settled herself against his side refusing to be moved.

She had intrigued him from their first meeting. Standing in the damp and dimly lit warehouse, chosen specifically to unbalance her further, she had laughed. Not a forced laugh of false bravado, no she had chucked to herself, and it had thrown him. He was not a man easily surprised, but he had not been expecting her laugh when she turned her circle and found him standing there. He definitely had not been expecting her questions. He had never divulged the information but he would concede that he had had to move a little quicker on quiet feet to be properly posed when she turned. He would not say run as Mycroft Holmes did not run.  
Although essentially kidnapped, Molly had stood her ground with her spine straight, defiance flashing in her eyes. She had refused to answer his questions, instead responding with ones of her own, unwilling to reveal information about others. He had in no way been expecting the strength she had displayed, despite the apparent precarious nature of their meeting. The file regarding Molly had listed her as a small, unconfident mouse of a woman, shy and easily dominated. The file had not indicated her strong protective instincts for those she held dear, or those she considered in need of her protection. It had not indicated that she was extremely stubborn and loyal to a fault. The file had been woefully inadequate. The person responsible for the information gathering had been reassigned to less critical jobs. Such a miscalculation in the future could lead to regrettable and avoidable deaths. Such failure was not to be tolerated.

As he had watched her in that warehouse, facing her in the dim light, he had been able to see the touches of fear she buried, her stubborn nature showing in the tilt of her head, defiance in the eyes that unflinchingly met his. She had deflected his questions making him divulge information. She had him answer as many questions as he asked. She possessed a skill that many unsavoury characters around the world sought. Garnering more information from him than people resorting to physical means of persuasion had managed. Here was the Ice man undone by a petite and beautiful pathologist. The whole meeting had unnerved him, he had been retreating to regroup unable to understand his reaction to her. Then she had surprised him again, she offered information. For no apparent reason other than to comfort him.

Taking pity on the man who had abducted her, she willingly provided information regarding Sherlock's welfare. Information he had wanted but not dared to ask for. She hadn't had to part with the information, the meeting had been over and he leaving. She had wanted to comfort him and put his mind at ease. As soon as he had revealed himself as Sherlock's brother, her demeanour had shifted slightly. Mycroft read people, knew what they were thinking and how they would react to a given situation, it was what made him so very good at his job. His skill however had not helped him when it came to Molly. She rarely reacted as expected, her actions born of her capacity to love and to forgive.

Their situation was so very strange and new to him. Previously he had stated vehemently that caring was not an advantage. He had been wrong, caring for Molly made him more ruthless. He would do everything in his considerable power to keep her safe and happy. She had unleashed the entirety of his protective alpha nature, previously only seen in part by his guarding of Sherlock.

Molly had brought such changes to his life, changes most definitely for the better. His life was so drastically different, no longer solitary and empty. He found himself surrounded by people and woefully out of his depth, but Molly stood by his side taking his hand and guiding him. His brother and John were now a frequent feature in his life, Sherlock not so acidic or resentful towards him now. The influences Molly and John held over the Holmes brothers strengthened all of their bonds, each of their partners refusing to allow the animosity to continue diffusing situations with gentle reminders.

Both brothers balanced and humanised by their lovers. Then came Gregory Lestrade, the Yarder with a large heart, his sense of right and wrong so clear. Mycroft owed Gregory for his constant support in caring for Sherlock and keeping him safe and his mind occupied. He had recognised Sherlock's brilliance even when it was dulled by drugs, over the years they had spent many an hour in each other’s company discussing Sherlock at first then developing what he now saw was friendship.

Molly influenced each of them, connecting them and holding them together. None wanted to be the one to dull Molly's light. She healed each of them with her presence, calmed and feeling cared for. All of their lives were richer because Molly cared.  
Delivering him to the door, he watched the car pull away into the darkness before entering the house. Dragging his feet he headed straight for the study. Slowly opening the door he lent against the doorframe. Molly was curled on her side facing the embers of the fire, hands pillowing her head breathing deeply as she slept. Toeing off his shoes he moved across the room towards her, stripping of his jacket, waistcoat and tie as he went. Toby meowed at him from his chair so he said a quick hello rubbing the cat between his ears.

"Shh Toby you will wake your mother"

"Mm awake" came a sleepy voice from behind him.

"Oh Mol, I'm sorry I did not mean to wake you. I was trying to be quiet."

Molly mumbled something into the cushion and reached her arm towards him. 

"C'mere" 

She flexed her hand in his direction. She opened one eye to peer across the space between them when he didn't immediately move. 

"Now My!" 

He grinned and moved to take her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. She pulled at him 

"Snuggle and sleep" 

Quite the little dictator when she wanted to be. Without complaint he climbed in to the space at her back between her warmth and the softness of the cushions. He pulled her close with one arm whilst dragging the blanket off the back of the sofa and pulling it over them with the other. Molly turned in his arms to curl into his chest, pressing a kiss to the exposed skin of his throat.

"Glad you're home, missed you" 

She burrowed closer and he rested his cheek against her hair.

"I missed you too love, now back to sleep" 

she hummed at him.

"Love you"

Tired as he was he listened to her breathing deepen into sleep again. He held her close and with one last whisper. 

"I love you Molly Hooper" 

He finally allowed himself to slip in to sleep. Here he was home safe enough to sleep deeply, relaxed and content. Never mind the house, Molly was his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you think this is sounding ok. Any feedback is greatly appreciated.


	5. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so some smut, though its not really I don't think. Anyway it contains adult themes.
> 
> Upated:
> 
> Thanks to my fantastic beta Mycitruspocket, this is now legible! I can't thank you enough Katxx

Molly woke first, Mycroft's arms still loosely around her, holding her to him. She lay half covering his body, his thigh held securely between hers. She rested her head above his heart, her right arm snaked around his shoulder, her left lay across his body, her hand curling around his hip. She never felt safer and more loved than when she was here. Surrounded by his arms she could deal with anything. Their separations didn't matter so as much so as long as they had this when he got home.

"I can hear you thinking Mol." 

She jumped slightly at the unexpected noise and buried her face in his shoulder.

 

"Sorry I didn't mean to wake you up.".

She ran a finger across his forehead and down his nose. As it reached his lips, he sucked it into the warmth of his mouth. Her breath hitched as he suckled her finger, caressing it with his tongue. Drawing her finger from his mouth she pushed herself up and fitted her mouth to his. He deepened the kiss immediately, possessing her mouth completely. She was breathless when he broke away. He spoke against her lips.

"I definitely don't mind being woken in such a manner, feel free to wake me like that every morning.”

She felt the rumble of his words against her hands. He dragged her to lay completely on top of him, securing her by clasping his hands at the base of her spine and pulling her tightly to him. She settled between his thighs. 

"For as long as you'll have me My. I'll make sure you know how much you are wanted by me.”

Gently and with all her heart she pressed a kiss to his lips, tying to convey all her feelings in one go. Not just a kiss of passion, a slow kiss of love. Pulling back holding herself above him with an arm either side of his head, she gazed down at his face and smiled. He cracked open his eyes.

"Good morning beautiful.”

His eyes sparkled at her.

"Shouldn't that be my line, Miss Hooper?"

He accompanied his question with a squeeze of her rear, pulling her tight against his straining trousers. Molly groaned arched her spine.

"Mr Holmes, it appears someone is happy to see me."

She wiggled against him with what little room he allowed her.

"I do believe he is always happy to see you.”

Molly moved to straddle his waist, resting her hands on his deceptively muscled biceps. She circled her hips, inhaling deeply at the delicious friction. His breath hitched as he cradled her rear with both hands and thrust up against her. Molly rocked against him lost in the sensations between her thighs. Her body throbbed, aching with need for the man beneath her. She leant in close, nose to nose and whispered.

"Clothes off. Now!”

He fisted her shirt and raised it over her head, dragging it from her body. Dropping the shirt, he pressed his head to her delicious breasts. Nuzzling through the lace of her bra, he grazed his teeth against her nipple then sucked it between his lips, gently teasing it with his teeth. His hands back at the soft skin of her waist, he continued to slowly thrust his pelvis in to into hers. Molly threw back her head, completely lost in Mycroft's attentions.  
Holding her firmly, he flipped their positions until he knelt between her legs. Molly looked at him through hooded eyes, panting. She raised her hands to her breasts, trying to knead away the ache, pinching her nipples she rolled them not taking her eyes from his. With hurried hands he dragged her trousers and underwear down her legs throwing them away from them. He ran his hands from her ankles to her hips, his thumbs running against her inner thighs barely brushing her core. She growled at him.

"So impatient!"

He chuckled at her demands. Unfastening his trousers, he stood to remove is clothing quickly. He looked at her, splayed against the sofa waiting for him. She watched him with desire in her eyes, spurring. Abandoning his clothes in a pile he returned to her quickly, pressing his weight against her. She canted her hips, wrapping her legs around his waist drawing him closer. Leaning forwards he joined their mouths in a fevered kiss. Tongues duelling, taking and giving everything, the kiss consumed them. With a moan from Molly he lifted his hips, her hand slid to grasp his cock. At the contact his breath shuddered from his body his eyes rolling backwards. The sensations were so overwhelming it was almost too much, he needed to be inside her. Molly guided him to her entrance and he surged forwards burying himself in her heat. Molly moaned and arched upwards, her hands flew to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his back, a delicious pain that surged him forwards. Setting a slow and deep rhythm they rocked together. Molly gripped his hair, pulling him down to her lips, she kissed along his jaw and down his neck. She sank her teeth into the juncture of his shoulder and the pressure made his rhythm stutter and he groaned deep in his throat.  
"God Mol, what you do to me!"  
She sucked at his neck, knowing exactly the effect it had on him. She let her tongue flick out against his heated skin, teasing the sensitive flesh. Mycroft couldn't hold back any longer, he pushed himself up, looking for leverage and surged into Molly hard. Both of them beyond words, the only sounds in the room seemed almost obscene against the surrounding silence, the smacking of skin on skin as they rush towards release and their breathy moans filling the air. Mycroft was lost in Molly, she clenched around him, massaging along his length. He felt the first of the tremors start within her body, quickly followed by Molly mewling into his skin. They wouldn't last long like this. He adjusted his angle, thrusting into her over and over again. He knew he hit the spot when Molly screamed and arched into him, begging him to take her over the edge.

"My please, harder. Oh god, anything. Just more."

She pleaded against his neck, her breath hot in his ear. Her thighs squeezed him, hips rising to meet his every thrust. Burying himself deep, he reached between them and added the press of his fingers to her. Her whole body seized, her back bowing involuntarily, she shook uncontrollably. Her mouth open in a silent scream, eyes squeezed shut she dissolved into ecstasy. He held her close as her body milked his, pulling him with her into release. Together they writhed and he collapsed against her, remaining sheathed within her. He could feel the sporadic clenching of her walls around him, drawing moans from deep within him. Molly wrapped her arms around him. One hand holding his head to her as she ran her hands through his hair, the other moved lightly across his shoulders tracing patterns in his skin. Mycroft kissed all the skin he could reach, with gentle, reverent, presses of his lips.  
He moved to shift his weight from crushing Molly but she tightened her arms, holding him close.

"No stay, I like you where you are. I love you being so close, still inside me. I never want you to be anywhere else. I love you Mycroft Holmes, with every part of my soul."

"What on earth did I ever do to deserve you Molly Hooper? You are my heart and my home, I can never thank you enough for everything you bring to my life. Live with me Molly? Make your home here with me?"

Mycroft looked to Molly, tears pooling in her eyes. He brushed her tears with his thumbs.

"Oh Mol don't cry, what's wrong? I'm sorry, whatever I said that made you sad I'm so sorry."

He kissed the tears that escaped to run down the sides of her face.

"Please love don't cry, I can't bear it when you cry.”

Molly could see the panic on his face and it tore at her heart.

"Mycroft you silly, silly man."

She punctuated her words with kisses to his face.

"Of course I'll live with you. I'm not sad, I'm so very, not sad. Never ever doubt that I love you."

She looked deep into his eyes poured all her emotions into her gaze.

"I'm the lucky one My and I say thank you every day that I have you."

At that moment Mycroft's stomach rumbled, Molly hugged him tight and laughed.

"Come on let's go be domestic, I'd best feed you before you keel over from starvation. Trust me when I say, I need you hale and hearty so get that ass moving Holmes, we've got things to do.”

With a smack of her hand against his bare skin that made him jump she grinned.

"Mush Mr Holmes, we won't have all day. I'm actually surprised we've had this long. We'll have to get Anthea something nice to say thank you."

With a groan Mycroft stood and held out his hand.

"Can we please not talk about my assistant when we are naked? I find I'm suddenly not so hungry after all."

Still laughing Molly allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"Fine, shower and food, no talk of Anthea. Got it. Last one to the bathroom loses."

With that she took off at a run. Mycroft stood transfixed, watching her dart naked through the door, he followed in time to see her running upstairs. He was quite happy to lose the race, so long as he got to see that sight.

"Stop staring at my ass Mycroft and get yours moving!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{----}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were halfway through lunch when his phone rang. Much more time than either of them thought they would have, passing him the ringing phone she pushed him towards the study.  
"Go, I've got this!"

She reached to press a quick kiss to his lips   
“Shoo I'm busy!”

With that she turned to return to their dishes humming to herself.  
Retreating down the hall, content and relaxed he answered the phone.

"Sir, we have a problem.”

Mycroft sighed, there was always a problem that needed his attention.

"Send the car, I will be ready in ten minutes.”

He turned and headed back to the kitchen. 

"Mol I'm sorry, I have to go the office."

He walked through the doorway, still looking at the phone in his hand. Looking up he saw Molly leaning one hip against the counter, his jacket in one hand, his umbrella twirling in the other. She looked nothing but delectable, he crowded her against the counter and took her lips, stealing her breath. Breaking away and a little flushed, Molly slowly stepped back. 

"Go get ready, or A will never let me hear the end of it. Just do me one favour? When you walk away, do it slowly and show me that swagger Mr Holmes?"

She grinned at him and he glowered.

"I'll have you known madam that I do not swagger. I shall however walk away in a completely manly fashion and you may watch if you wish."

With that he left the kitchen with perhaps a little more exaggeration to his walk than normal and he may have been swinging his umbrella. Molly's chuckling followed him all the way to the front door.


	6. Extraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's work comes calling on Molly.
> 
> As usual I don't own the characters I've merely borrowed them. 
> 
> Edited and Beta'd by the fabulous Kat (Mycitruspocket)

Molly left the hospital earlier than normal, she wasn't on call, the late shift had arrived and it was Friday. Collecting her belongings she left via the main entrance. She hadn't called James to bring the car, she'd get him to pick her up from the supermarket when she had heavy bags. It was much easier to just walk to the shop from St Barts, it also meant she didn't have to feel guilty for leaving James waiting in the car. There was no way she was dragging him round the shop again, it had been like having a reluctant child with her. Just remembering James trying to be professional but dragging his feet made her laugh. It was only a 15 minute walk, so she set off bundled up in her coat to fight off the early spring chill.

Molly noted the absence of the black car that usually followed her. She'd become so used to the car and men being there, it was a little odd for them to be missing. Mycroft could have called them off she supposed, but something just felt off. Molly couldn’t quite put her finger on it though. She scanned the area but saw nothing, they had probably just nipped away, after all she wasn’t supposed to be leaving work for another hour.

How much her life had changed she mused, just a few months ago she wouldn't have believed she'd be questioning the absence of a team of bodyguard's. Even though part of her mind was trying to rationalise the absence, another part refused to be ignored, insisting that there was most definitely something amiss. She stopped in front of a shop and using the big plate glass window, scanned her surroundings trying to find what was making her skittish. There was nothing that seemed out of place, just people going about their lives, but the tingling along her spine continued. She walked slowly down the road trying to figure out what was making her uneasy. She stopped in front of another shop window. Again she started the process of trying to spot something out of place. Was that man on the other side of the road watching her? Was she just being paranoid? Her heart began to beat faster in her chest. She continued her way down the road, passing women with buggies, business men and women all oblivious to the fear beginning to well inside her, she had to keep calm and appear as though everything was normal. If there was someone following her she didn't want them to know she saw them and that she was scared. She stopped again, this time using a bookshop window to look behind her. The man had stopped again, he was further up the road but he definitely appeared to be watching her. He could be one of Mycroft's guards but surely he would have approached her by now if that was the case?

Molly had to make a decision and quickly. She needed to call Mycroft, even if she was being silly speaking to him would calm her. She'd be safer in the shop she thought, pushing the door open she stepped casually into the bookshop. She moved towards the back of the floor, making sure to keep the window and door in view. She dug through her bag for her phone and dialled Mycroft. He answered after two rings. "Hello darling, how are you?" She felt instant relief on hearing his voice. "My, thank god. I think I'm being followed." Her voice started to break but she pulled herself together, steeling herself.

"Is it a black car? I've had a team with you."

"No My, I know they've been watching me, I saw them from the beginning. I haven't seen them this afternoon, I came out of Barts and they weren't there. I haven't seen them since they dropped me at work this morning. I think a man has been following me since I left the hospital. He could be one of your guys but I don't recognise him."

"Why didn't you call James? He would have escorted you where ever you are going?"

"I was going to get him to pick me up when I had all the bags, I'm only going to Sainsburys."

She heard Mycroft shout for Anthea, giving concise instructions regarding finding the follow car and locating her driver James.

"Where are you Mol? Can you see the person you think is following you? Darling I need you to tell me where you are."

"I'm in the bookshop two minutes from St Barts on Ave Maria lane, I'm at the back of the shop. I can still see him, he's standing across the road watching the shop, each time I stopped he stopped, I watched his reflection in the windows."

Mycroft's heart was in his throat, he couldn't remember ever being this scared or angry.

"You did the right thing calling me Mol. Are you ok?"

He had to put it all aside and get a handle on whatever was happening. There shouldn’t be anyone following Molly on foot. Especially not doing so in a manner to cause her concern. Anthea shook her head, they couldn't contact the follow car or reach James, this shouldn't be possible unless there was something wrong. He may have been able to believe one of them being out of contact was a coincidence and that Molly was safe, but every fibre of his body was telling him that this was very wrong.

"I'm fine, a little scared but he hasn't approached me but I don't recall seeing him before."

"Molly, we cannot reach James or the others. I need you to stay where you are."

"Oh God, what if they're hurt My? What if something has happened to them?"

"We'll worry about them later, it is not your fault Molly, whatever we discover this to be. You are not to blame, do you understand?"

Mycroft wished he had some idea what was happening here. He was not used to being on the back foot, they usually had some information regarding a situation. This time he was being forced to react without information and it had the potential to get wildly out of hand. One person following Molly could have been anything, the missing teams made this more of a concern, the two together did not bode well. 

Anthea was scrambling teams, one phone held between her ear and shoulder another clutched in her hands tapping furiously at the keys. Fortunately they already had the helicopter up, it was being diverted to get eyes in the sky. The techs at the stations around him were typing furiously(,) bringing up on the monitors all the CCTV feeds for Molly's immediate area.

"Molly, I need you to describe him to me, so we can find him on the cameras. Can you do that for me?" 

He needed Molly as calm as possible even if he was failing at it himself. He couldn't be My right now. He had to be the Iceman.

Molly heard Mycroft's voice harden and recognised it as him shifting to the ruthless professional version of himself. She understood, that was who he needed to be right now. That was who she needed him to be.

"I can do that. Ok Caucasian, approximately 6ft 2in. Dark hair, but cut short, military short. Age approximately 35-40 years, muscular build. I can't get a thorough look at his face without giving myself away. Wearing a knee length black coat, unbuttoned."

"Thank you Molly we've got him on the cameras, we're running him through facial recognition for identification now. You are doing well Molly, I’m sending a team to get you, they will reach you in a few minutes. Stay calm everything will be fine. Just stay on the phone with me, it will all be over very soon."

Molly kept glancing at the man from out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't moving closer just standing on the opposite side of the road watching the shop, she had no idea if he knew there was help coming or even knew she had seen him. She made herself move along the shelves as though she were browsing.

“I'm a lot better now I have you on the phone. I didn't know what else to do.”

Every part of Mycroft wanted to go to Molly, no one should be able to make her sound so vulnerable. 

"Anytime you are scared or feel threatened by anything you call me, no matter the time of day or night. I will always answer you and come to your aid should you require it"

He needed to touch her, to know she was safe. He knew the best place for him right at this moment was coordinating everything from where he was. He would not, no could not trust this to another person. Once they had the situation under control and she was safely in the building he could go to her. He just needed to have this situation contained, they couldn't risk anything going wrong. Anthea came to stand by his side, still engaged with the two phones.

"Sir, we have a potential ID, it's as good as we are going to get this quickly. One of the techs recognises him, Otto Schultz he's a mercenary, a successful one. Gates recognised him from his work in South Africa. We're pulling up all the information we can find."

Mycroft nodded his thanks, Anthea returned his dip of the head and moved away once more. He knew of the man, he had not heard the name for a long time, an alias for a man who involved himself to some degree in some of the biggest conflicts over the last twenty years.

"Anthea, have them pull files on Arno Hirsch. Tell them we want everything from everyone, no exceptions."

The situation had just escalated, towards a possible conclusion that didn't bear thinking about. He would focus on the larger scheme once they had Molly safely away from the murderer that stalked her. He shook his head, returning his attention to the phone and Molly at the end of the line.

"Mol, I'm watching you on the cameras, in two minutes there will be a team of three people coming through the door. They will just look like other shoppers but their job is to extract you safely. They will take you out of the shop via the emergency exit to the rear, you will get in the car that will be waiting. It will bring you directly to me. We will deal with the man once I know you are safe. You are going to be fine Molly, I'm so proud of you. Just do as they instruct. Their job is to ensure your safety, do not question any instructions they give and follow them exactly. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready and I'll do what they tell me to. Don't worry Mycroft(,) I know what's at stake"

Anthea came to him, standing at his elbow. 

"Sir the extraction team is ready, another three teams waiting for your signal to take the target and search the area for any support teams." 

He nodded his thanks.

"Ok Molly, the laughing group of people coming through the door now. Can you see them? I want you to walk slowly further into the shop towards the back. The woman and one of the men will come to you. The other man will stay towards the front of the shop floor and will hold that position. Now remember, do as they advise. Ready? Now go Molly, know I'm watching and you will be safe here with me soon."

"I'm putting my phone in my pocket but leaving it on. Please stay on the line?"

"Always!"  
Molly waited and watched the door discreetly, right on queue in walked three people, just as she had been told they would. Two of the agents came towards her seemingly paying no attention to her until they were at her side.

"Come Miss Hooper, let's get you out of here.”

The woman took her elbow and they walked quickly towards the exit. The man stalked ahead of the two of them, he pushed through the door marked staff only into the back of the shop without hesitation. The woman pulled her along behind her. She watched the agents work, they were hyper aware of everything around them and they moved like dancers in well choreographed steps. 

"We've got the clear, target one no movement, alley clear and car waiting."

The man took point both now had guns drawn pointing at the floor, as they swept through the corridor.

They reached the shops back entrance, Molly was placed behind them they paused, again the man spoke.

“Alarm clear, entering the alley confirm cover up high, no suspicious movement in vicinity, opening door now.”

In the low afternoon light Molly was pulled through the door, her eyes darted around the darkening alley senses on high alert. Molly was led quickly towards the car that waited idling only feet from the door. Flanked by her armed escort she was hustled towards the rear of the car. Opening the door and placing a hand on her head the female guided her into the back seat. Another armed escort waited inside the car with the driver. She didn't recognise any of them from the people set to watch her over the last few weeks, but she was glad they were there.

"Stay down Miss Hooper!"

Molly did as instructed and stayed low as she scooted across the seat that faced the rear of the car. The agents followed her both keeping their weapons In their hands one sitting next to her the other on the opposite seat.  
The female addressed the driver and whomever the voice in her earpiece was. 

"Let's go, extraction complete, Miss Hooper is secure and now in transit ETA ten minutes!"

When the car was moving, Molly could breathe. "What about the third man, the one who stayed at the front of the shop? We just left him there!"

"Don't worry Miss Hooper, he will be picked up momentarily by another team and taken back to headquarters."  
After that, Molly didn't hear much of the conversation around her. She retreated into her mind to work over the longest twenty minutes of her life.  
Mycroft heard everything, mostly he heard Molly’s silence and that worried him. Molly was a talker, to hear her so quiet caused him concern. He needed to see her face, he had no idea how she would cope once the adrenaline wore off. She would be arriving soon which meant he only had a short amount of time to get the rest of the situation under control. He gave the word and the teams moved in. As he watched the screens in the observation room, the man sometimes known as Arno Hirsch, was forced to the ground, restrained and quickly thrown into the back of a nondescript van. He would have the man interrogated later. Would most likely observe it himself if not actively participate in the questioning. They would have to be careful, for what he knew of the man he shouldn't have been that easy to subdue.  
He watched the teams searching the area for suspicious activity. Nodding to Anthea, he left her in charge, she was perfectly capable of running the operation and would have all the information when he was ready for it. Mycroft rode the lift to the underground area where the car would bring Molly and waited. Jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows he stood still. The only outward sign of his turmoil was the movement of his hand on his pocket watch, opening and closing the face repeatedly. He heard the security barriers moving and the car came into sight. He made to move as it drew closer barely holding himself in place. The car drew to a stop, the back door opened and Molly flew from the car throwing herself at him.

Mycroft caught Molly tight to him as she flew from the car. Wrapping her tight in his arms burying his head against her hair. While he was relieved that she was now safe in his arms, he also realised that this was only the opening strike of an unknown battle. They had made Molly the first target, who knew what they were capable of. Would they try to take her again? Would they cease trying to take her and send instead an assassin? The thoughts tumbled through his mind getting louder and harder to ignore. He squeezed her tight then held her at arm’s length checking her from head to foot. 

"Molly, please tell me you are unharmed?"

"I'm fine My, your team got me out. I'm ok. How are you doing?" 

She tilted her head up to look at him and she saw. He hid it well but in his eyes she saw panic and fear, threatening to take over. Instantly she put aside thoughts of herself and the afternoon’s events. Mycroft needed help, he wouldn't want people to see him lose his composure, even though the agents who had brought her here gave them as much privacy as possible while still being on alert, she had to get him somewhere private. 

"My, I'm cold" 

Instantly he snapped into focus as she knew he would. He would ignore concerns for himself and act instantly to ensure her comfort.  
He barked at the agents around them. 

"Meeting, thirty minutes, I want full updates and reports"

Taking her elbow, he lead her to the lift behind them. He remained distant and rigid until he had her in his office. Shutting the heavy door, he slumped with his back to it, eyes to the floor. 

"Jesus Mol, I could have lost you.”

She'd never seen him like this, so close to complete loss of control.  
Using her body she manoeuvred Mycroft to the couch, she pushed him into the cushions and climbed onto his lap, loosening his tie. Resting her forehead against his temple, she pulled his arms around her.

"It's ok My, we've got half an hour then we'll be back in one piece and we can work out what the hell just happened ok?"

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and played with the hair at the nape of his neck. She knew he'd speak when he was ready. Molly doubted he'd ever experienced not being in complete control before, but he just needed a minute to gather his thoughts and compose himself. That he allowed her to be there, to see his vulnerability told her everything she needed to know about his love for her. She didn't push him to talk, she didn't ask questions, she didn't speak at all. Just let him hold her close. It was almost fifteen minutes until he spoke.

"I should be helping you, not making you take care of me. I am truly sorry Molly, this is all my fault. By being selfish and wanting you for my own I have put you in harms way. It was never my intention for any of this to touch you."

 

"Shh My, I would face any danger for you, know that and trust me. Don't you dare think about trying to send me away. We don't know what the hell this is yet, but it definitely is not your fault. Do you understand me?"

She gripped his chin and forced him to look her in the eye.

"No what ifs, we're fine. You are going to stop thinking about what could have happened and you are going out there and be the Mycroft I know who can take on the world. We'll even call Sherlock and John and they can come and get me and take me home so you can work. The house is safe and you trust them. You know they'll help. Well, John will without question and he'll make Sherlock if he whines just to annoy you."

Mycroft finally quirked his lips in a small smile.

"I have no idea what I did to earn you Molly, but I am ever thankful that you are in my life. The thought of you getting hurt or worse because of my actions is abhorrent to me. I will not lose you. I cannot lose you"

"I'm not going anywhere, you Sir, are going to figure out what the hell is going on and with the help of whoever you’ll fix it, because that is what you do. Do I make myself clear love? They won't be scaring me off and I know you won't let me be vulnerable again."

"I think they've got the wrong one of us in charge here. My little dictator."

He buried is face in her neck, pressing a quick kiss to her pulse.

"Thank you Mol, thank you for not letting anyone see me as I was. Thank you for being strong and beautiful and for having so much faith in me."

"Mycroft as far as I am concerned you could probably walk on water. My faith in you is unshakeable. There's only one thing I worry about Mycroft, and that's you. You are my business, you and our strange family, but the rest of this" 

She waved her arm gesturing to his office 

"Is all you. You're the one who has to worry about everything else and it's a lot of everything else. So you be strong for this and I'll be strong for you. This is how it works now, we stand together ok? You aren't alone anymore."

She held eye contact, making him see the truth in her eyes. He nodded and closed the gap between their lips, taking her mouth in a soft and tender kiss.  
Forehead to forehead, eyes closed, they breathed each other in.

"Come on My, you have work to do"

Molly rose before him and he allowed her to pull him to his feet. She set about straightening his tie and smoothed his hair back into place.

"You have to call Sherlock and John. I don't even know where we are, I was a little unfocused on the way to the bat cave. We still don't have any food in the house either."

Mycroft chuckled, "Not the bat cave love, minor position in the government."

"Of course My. Minor position? After what you just pulled off? Ok, we'll pretend I believe that, not that I ever did but we'll pretend.”

"I'll call my brother. If you are insistent we still require food and it cannot be done by Mrs Heatheridge, make a list while we wait for Sherlock and John. I will have it arranged and delivered to the house. You will find pens and paper on my desk. Make yourself comfortable, who knows how long it will take for Sherlock and John to get here." He walked back to Molly and pressed a kiss to her hair "I love you".  
"I love you too, now go. They'll be waiting for you."

Molly watched him leave, a little bit of panic biting at her insides at being on her own. She tamped it down, she knew she was safe here. She just had to keep herself occupied.

Turning away from the door, she headed towards the heavy wooden desk that dominated the room. At least she could write the shopping list, she had a feeling she wouldn't be going out so much in the foreseeable future and there would be extra people to feed. She doubted My would let her be alone in the house and she cooked when she was nervous or upset. At least it would be used this time rather than just filling the freezer.

By the time the list was done it looked like she was feeding a large family for weeks. Molly supposed she was really, they definitely felt like family their little bunch of misfits. For the first time since her dad died she didn't feel alone. She'd be damned if someone was going to make her lose that.

\--------000-------

He closed the door with a gentle click and squared his shoulders. He walked swiftly towards Anthea's office and commandeered it, phone in his hand he dialled Sherlock as he closed the door.

The line rang seven times before it was answered by John.

"Mycroft, to what do we owe this pleasure?"

"I see my brother is still having you retrieve his phone from his pocket. Please put him on the phone John"

Mycroft heard John speaking in the background, he heard Sherlock’s sullen tones then clearly 

"Busy you deal with him". 

An exasperated John came back on the line.

"Sorry Mycroft he's a little preoccupied with an experiment at the moment. Can I help?"

"Please tell my brother his assistance is required. Molly was followed from work by a known mercenary."

John cut him off. 

"God is she ok? What do you need?"

Mycroft heard a struggle for the phone as Sherlock tried to take the phone from John.

"Sherlock will you pack it in, someone tried to take Molly, this is not the time for you to be difficult."

Mycroft noted John switched the phone to loud speaker.

"Molly is unharmed, an extraction team removed her from the situation before it escalated. Her protection detail is as yet unaccounted for. At this time I have no more information. I would be most appreciative Sherlock, if you and John could collect Molly from my office, escort her home and remain at the house with her."

There was no hesitation from John.

"For Molly, anything. We’re on our way!"

There were hurried footsteps and the rustle of coats being pulled on.

"Thank you John. I’ll send a car."

"Don't bother we’ll get a taxi, it’ll be quicker."

Heavy footsteps on stairs and the opening of the front door then the background noises of busy London.

"You know which office I refer to brother?"

"Obviously Mycroft, do cease to be dull. I expect you to provide me all the information you have when we arrive. You realise you cannot rely on the idiots you have working for you."

Mycroft would normally have argued, but this was too important an issue. As infuriating as his brother was, he was a Holmes and no one could question that together they were a force to be reckoned with. An angered Holmes was a formidable thing, two were the thing of criminal nightmares.

"I shall advise security of your impending arrival."  
Ending the call, he strode out of the office heading towards the control room.

\------000------

Anthea came to his side at once.

"Please advise security that my brother and Dr Watson will be arriving shortly. They are to be brought directly to me."

He didn't have to ask for a status report, Anthea immediately began to provide him with all the information they had gathered in his absence.

"We have the files you requested on Hirsch and any known alias’. He is currently being held at location 3 under heavy guard, awaiting your instructions. A support team was located half a mile from the hospital all eliminated quickly. Cover story being circulated is that it was a film location. So far no problems."

Mycroft nodded, there was a good reason Anthea was his assistant. He could trust her to act as he would in his absence. She was easily underestimated by many. As a beautiful woman she was often overlooked as merely a personal assistant. But that beauty hid a heart as ruthless as his. She was his right hand, would likely be his successor.

"Have the follow team or James been located yet?"  
Anthea shook her head.

“We have teams searching for them, last contact was three hours ago. Tracers are being activated but so far all have been disabled."

Mycroft had been expecting as much, whomever was at the head of this situation was a professional. No one else would have the contacts or money required to secure the services of Hirsch, the man was at the top of the game. Uneasiness settled in his stomach. Anthea's phone rang and she stepped back to answer it and he waited.

"Sir!"

Anthea drew his attention, her face solemn.

"They found the follow car, all our men are accounted for but deceased. They have also located James, he is alive but barely. They are transporting him to the hospital now. It doesn't look good Sir. He’s been tortured."

The room stilled momentarily. Everyone waiting for orders, for his reaction, for something. He glanced at them and they quickly resumed their activities. He tilted his head in the direction of Anthea’s office. Stepping out of the room.  
Once they were inside the small office with the door closed, he had to breathe deeply, trying to maintain some semblance of control. He spoke quietly and carefully to Anthea.

"I want Hirsch's movements backtracked on the cameras. I want to know how long he followed Molly. Where he came from. Anyone he has spoken to or had contact with. When he arrived in the country and how the hell did he get in without being noticed. You know who to call for information."  
She stood, taking down everything he said. Putting his order into action on her phone.

"What do you want us to do with Hirsch Sir?"

Mycroft's voice lowered further dangerous and predatory. The anger he concealed showing through his usual calm.  
"Call interrogation team one. Authorisation granted allowing any means necessary for the retrieval of information. I believe it is time to reacquaint ourselves with dirty hands."


	7. Protection Detail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock arrive to collect Molly.
> 
> Edited to fix the faults my fantastic beta MyCitrusPocket. I promise the next chapter is coming up soon. We're just finishing it up finding the problems.

Sherlock leapt from the taxi as soon as it rolled to a stop. John guessed he was paying and quickly handed twenty quid to the cabbie, hastily following Sherlock to the pavement. John stared at the building in front of them and then looked at Sherlock again.

“You sure this is the address we want? We can’t waste time at the wrong address Sherlock, someone threatened Molly, Mycroft is asking for help. You know how big of a deal that is.”

He looked around them, offices, a hotel and a pub at the end of the street. It didn’t exactly seem like the place you’d hide some top secret offices. Sherlock scoffed next to him.

“John, you are not observing again. Obviously this is one of Mycroft’s offices. We are merely waiting for one of his lackeys to eventually get the door. ”

“Maybe we should knock?”

“They may be dullards John, but I should think even they will notice two people they are expecting standing on the doorstep. Especially you consider the four cameras currently trained on us.”

Just as he was about to reply the metal shutter before them started to rattle as it was raised. It revealed a pair of legs but seemed to take an age to reach the face of the person waiting for them.

“Sirs, I am to escort you straight to Mr Holmes, please follow me.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but stalked after Mycroft’s man, eyes forward, seemingly paying no attention to his surroundings. John watched everything around them as he followed behind. They were lead below ground into a large parking area with a circular roadway allowing quick entry and exit. Banks of familiar black cars lined the walls. They stepped into a lift at the back of the large garage and were carried to the fourth floor. The man who met them ushered them down a corridor lined with doors, John could hear voices from behind them but was unable to make out anything definite from inside. They came to an open door and John looked inside. It was a hive of activity, banks of computers and monitors all occupied by suited people. The voices inside battled each other, so many different languages spoken quickly into phones. John spotted Anthea at the centre of the melee; she raised her eyes and nodded in his direction but continued to speak to the three men around her. He tipped his head in acknowledgement and knew he’d see her later.  
Sherlock and the nameless man had stopped before a closed door and knocked once before walking away, John walked straight into Sherlock bouncing off his arm. He merely looked down at John, a slight smirk on his lips and a quirk to his eyebrow.

“Oh shut it Sherlock!”

Sherlock didn’t wait to be invited in, he grasped the handle and strode into the room. Glancing quickly around the room he spoke.

“Government cut backs Brother? This office is a little small for you isn’t it?”

“Anthea’s office Sherlock, as you well know. Let’s not be tedious shall we?   
Molly is asleep on the settee in mine. I need your help Sherlock.”

Mycroft looked directly at his brother, that he admitted to needing help was a shock to John. The situation must be worse than he expected to leave Mycroft this willing to request aid.

“Information Mycroft, what information do you have? Surely your imbecilic underlings must have something I can work with by now?”

Sherlock began to pace the room agitatedly, reaching side to side in six paces he span around his coat billowing with the movement and stalked back again.

“John, would you please check on Molly? I will update my brother on the information we have so far. No need to look affronted John, he will update you fully on the situation. I need your professional opinion regarding Molly’s wellbeing. As well as your view of her mental state. She advises she is fine but..”

He left the ending open. John knew what he was getting at. As someone who still battled the odd episode of PTSD could he please see if he recognised signs in Molly.

“My office is the next door on the right.”

John looked to Sherlock who just nodded, at that he left the room to find Molly.

 

The brothers watched him leave, Sherlock continued to pace the room.

“How could you Mycroft? Where was her security? Where was your planning? If something happens to Molly who is going to give me access to the bodies and equipment I require for my experiments? You were careless Mycroft, this is unacceptable.”

Sherlock paced, agitated back and forth before him. He spoke the words no one else would dare and though they hurt to hear, he knew them to be the truth.

“She had a security team as well as a trained driver. The former are dead, the latter may yet follow them to the grave. I did not know of the threat Sherlock and that concerns me more than I can say. For all the intelligence we keep, we heard nothing and still we search yet uncover little thus far. I must ask you for a truce brother, help me ensure Molly’s safety.”

“Tell me what you have so far.”

 

\-------------(ooo)-----------

 

John knocked gently on the heavy door but got no response, he slowly pushed it open revealing Molly lying on the sofa. She curled in on herself and was twitching in her sleep. Slight whimpering noises coming from her throat. John hurried to her side and crouched by hear head. He touched her shoulder lightly. At the touch of his hand she started awake, her arms flailing and her eyes wild. He caught her arms, gently grasping her wrists in his hands, stopping her fight.

“Molly, Molly it’s John, you’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re in Mycroft’s office. You’re safe.”

Eyes distant, Molly blinked rapidly bringing the world into focus. John moved his hands from her wrists to hold her hands in his, maintaining contact and offering his support. He waited for her to be back to herself. He saw the minute she snapped back in to focus.

“Oh God John, I didn’t hurt you did I? I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry Mol, I’m a bit rusty but I’ve still got some training, I think I can keep us both unhurt. How are you doing?”

Molly looked into John’s face and then threw herself at him with a small cry. He hugged her close, making comforting noises and rubbing her back. This was why it was John who came to see her. He offered comfort without questions. Sherlock and Mycroft were learning with the help of John and herself how to deal with emotions. They both had the capacity for great love but they struggled sometimes with the small things. They wouldn’t necessarily have understood all she needed was a hug while she let out some of the pent up emotions the day had brought.

“You OK now Mol?”

“Yes thank you, just needed to let that out you know? Been a bit of an exciting day. Thank you for coming to get me, My needs to focus and I don’t think he can get on with what he needs to do if he thinks I’m not safe. He trusts you and Sherlock to keep me safe at the house.”

John laughed and pulled Molly tight. He shuffled so they were side by side on the sofa, his arm around her shoulders. Molly rested her head against his arm.  
“Yeah busy day, I think it’s probably going to get busier from here to be honest. You know these Holmes brothers and their drama. If you ever need anything, you know we’ll always be here. Family’s family and crazy as ours is, we’re what you have. We’ll work out what is going on Mol, we’ll keep you safe.”

Molly looked up at John, eyes squeezing closed as she grinned.

“Wouldn’t change any of you and how could I not feel safe when I’m with you all? I’ve got the army, the government, Sherlock and no doubt the Yard when he finds out, looking after me.”

There was a knock at the door and a head popped round. Anthea grinned at them both.

“What have we got here then?”

“Shut it A and get your ass over here!”

Anthea always knows how to make Mol laugh. She charged through the door and threw herself on the sofa next to Molly sending her crashing against John.

“So what’s going on in here then, do I need to go get the Misters Holmes and break the news to them that you are running away together? And if you are running away together can I come?”

Anthea batted her eyelashes at them and gave them puppy dog eyes. Molly and John dissolved into laughter. How could this goofy brunette be the same person that had stood side by side with Mycroft, pulling off operations like they had today?

“How are you doing Mols? Sorry I’ve not been to see you sooner.”

Molly took Anthea’s hand, squeezing it.

“You’ve been a bit busy A, thank you for everything. I’m doing ok. How’s My doing?”

The three of them settled back against the sofa, close together.

“He’s a man possessed. You know what he’s like normally when he’s working. This time it’s personal Mols, this time they came for you. He won’t have that, I’m glad I’m not them, he’ll move heaven and earth for you and we’re along for the ride and have to help where we can.”

John took Molly’s other hand and they sat quietly for a while.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so much trouble. Who would have thought this afternoon that the day was going to end quite so spectacularly?”

Anthea turned towards Mol her face completely sincere. Holding her gaze.

“You did the right thing calling Molly, you did really good. You were on your own out there. I can’t even think what they would have done if they had managed to get to you too.”

Molly’s face fell, concern written in all of her features and the colour drained from her face. How could she have forgotten? How could she have been so selfish?

“James? The others? Oh God how could I not ask about them. Please A, tell me you found them?”

“I’m sorry Mol, the team in the car didn’t make it. James is at the hospital. It doesn’t look great. I’m sorry I have to tell you that but you deserve to know.”  
“He’s not alone is he? James? Someone is with him? He shouldn’t be on his own.”

Molly sounded so small and distant, Anthea shook her head and held her hand tight to pull her out of her head and back to the room.

“He’s got protection and he’s in one of our medical centres. They’ll do everything they can.”

John sat quietly offering his support, absorbing the information as it came to him. He knew Sherlock would give him the rest later; there would be plans to make and investigations to do. There would be little sleep and lots of stress, he just hoped they were all up to it. This whole situation set off alarm bells in his head and his gut.

“Thanks A, I don’t need to be coddled. I know it could have ended just as badly for me today. I know I don’t live in the same kind of world that you do, I don’t have to face these things every day. But, I do know death. I don’t need to be kept out of the loop. Now John, should we go find Sherlock? I think it’s best we got out of here and let My and A work.”

John nodded his agreement, Molly was doing ok. He watched the determination settle on her face. Better than he had expected really, a nightmare or two would be expected but she was a tough cookie.

“Come on then my beauties, lets get this show on the road.”

He pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand to each of the women still sprawled over the sofa. They each took an offered hand and he dragged them to their feet and pulled them in for a quick hug.

“Game faces ladies!”

The three of them composed themselves, preparing to face the world again. With nodding heads they opened the door and exited their safe haven. Anthea gave Molly’s hand one last squeeze and moved off to head back to the command room.

“A, you’ll come to the house later?”

“Of course Mol, oh where’s this list of yours? I was told you need some shopping and you were making a list?”

“I left it on My’s desk. I’d forgotten about that.”

“No worries Mols. I’ll get someone to do it and bring it to the house. I’ll see you later.”

With a last smile she disappeared into the busy room once more. Barking at someone who apparently wasn’t doing what he should be. Snapping easily back into her formidable working mode.

“I wonder if anyone in there knows just how goofy she can be?” Molly mused aloud.

“I think we’re just lucky.”

Laughing they moved to the next office along. With a quick knock she walked into the room, dragging John behind her by his sleeve.  
At her entrance, Mycroft rose from his seat behind the desk. Molly motioned for him to sit again while she walked to his side, he grasped her hand as soon as she was within reach and pulled her in close, his arm around her waist. She leant into him, quickly leaning down to press a kiss to his upturned face. Sherlock made a sound of disgust at his brother which earned him a tap to the head from John as he came up behind him.

“Behave!”

Sherlock turned his head as John settled his hands on his shoulders, giving him a look of contrition.

“Not fooled Sherlock, just be good.”

John still leant down and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s curls, smiling into their soft disarray. He squeezed the shoulders beneath his hands, answering the question he saw in Sherlock’s eyes when he had turned to him. Molly was doing ok. Sherlock was still new to demonstrating his caring for people and often relied on John to know what he wanted to ask when he couldn’t find the right way to do so. John would forever be the buffer and translator between the world of emotion and people and Sherlock, but it was a task he undertook happily.

“Are you ready to go Sherlock? We’d best get Molly home and I’d rather not leave it too late.”

“Yes John, I have enough information to get us started. Mycroft, now I am abreast of the situation, I will not discuss it further here. I assume your home is more secure brother?” 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at what his brother suggested.

“Bring the files Mycroft, all of the information you have gathered. We shall form our plans in private. John, Molly, let us leave.”

With that Sherlock leapt from the chair and stormed from the room, Molly kissed Mycroft quickly.

“I’ll see you at home later, be careful. Love you.”

Molly stared into Mycroft’s eyes as he searched her gaze so intently. She tried to show everything to him, baring her soul to comfort him. He wouldn’t believe her words but maybe he would see the truth for himself. She was ok, she knew they would solve this puzzle and everything would be safe and normal again. He finally nodded at her. Releasing her from his side, slowly he turned to John.

“You will take one of the cars, one of you may drive if you would prefer not to take a driver. There will be another armed team to escort you to the house. Once you arrive, engage the security, it will be monitored constantly. In the study at the bottom of the third bookcase on the left you will find a safe, it contains extra weaponry should you require it. Molly knows the code. Access to the house will be monitored by Anthea or myself, do not open the door. Anyone who needs access to the house will be granted or denied remotely. Security protocols have been increased, we in this room, Anthea, Sherlock and Gregory are all recognised by the security system, so we can enter at will, no one else.”

John fought the urge to snap to attention. He nodded stiffly at Mycroft and turned to leave the room.

“Mol, I’m going to find Sherlock before he winds someone up, we’ll wait for you by the lift.”

“Thanks John, I won’t be a minute. My, bring Anthea back to the house when you come home? I don’t want her on her own either and she’s coming later anyway. I know she’s trained for this but I still don’t want anyone out alone. Just humour me please?”

“Of course, no one is going to be without protection. I believe we may have the whole family under one roof by the time I return at any rate. Now go with John and Sherlock before my brother causes chaos here. I’m surprised he hasn’t already caused a coup.”

Molly ran her hand over Mycroft’s hair as she walked away.  
“I’ll send you a message later. Now I’m actually going. Get to work, I want you home before the early hours and you know if you don’t hurry with the files, Sherlock is likely to want to start doing experiments in the house. I’m not sure I have the heart to stop him.”

With that parting shot, she left the room with a smile on her lips. She didn’t need to turn around to see the look of abject horror on his face.

\------------(ooo)------------

John and Sherlock waited for Molly, Sherlock fidgeted his brow furrowed in thought.

“Sherlock, we’re taking one of the cars, do you want to take a driver or not? My instincts say no to the driver but I don’t know if we can trust the car either. I don’t know.”

He watched Sherlock mull over the choice. He trusted him to make the right decision, and he would stand by whatever he chose. Sherlock may be reckless with his own safety but he would never put Molly or himself at risk. He would go through the options and make the safest choice. Molly walked out of Anthea’s office smiling. She looked at them and grinning disappeared to gather her things. Sherlock watched her every move.

“We take a car, no driver, but we take the support team. I know you have your gun, do you have more ammunition than that which is already loaded? I doubt we will need it but it is good to have it all the same.”

John confirmed with a slight nod of the head, his gun not strictly legal. They really needed to get Mycroft to do something about that.

“Then we leave, we don’t stop until we reach the house, we watch for anyone following, we watch for everything. We take no chances. Anything that doesn’t seem right, we run and we keep her safe.”

Sherlock observed John as he spoke the things he could not, their cargo was precious to them both. They both watched as Molly hurried towards them trying to put on her coat and juggle her bag at the same time. They looked at each other, a slight smile on their lips. Sherlock leant in to quickly place a kiss on John’s lips.

“Do come along Molly, we haven’t got all day.”

Molly just rolled her eyes at him as John lifted her bag from her hands so she could extricate herself from the tangle of twisted sleeves.

“Thanks John, OK are we ready? Lets go.”

Molly spoke the words but didn’t actually move. Her eyes darted imploringly between the men on either side of her.

“John will you shove me just a little? I think I’m a bit stuck.”

Each of her hands was placed in the crook of an arm.

“Don’t worry Mol, we’ve got you. Let’s get you home.”

Gently they pulled her into the lift when it arrived, they rode down to the garage where a car waited for them. A larger black car sat behind, filled with suited guards. In a scene reminiscent of her flight from the bookshop, Molly was spirited into the back of the car. This time by John who joined her, Sherlock situated himself behind the wheel which shocked Molly. She looked to John utterly confused and whispered.

“Does he even have a licence?”

“Would it matter to him if he didn’t?”

She heard Sherlock scoff in the front seat but he didn’t speak further. She saw his eyes reflected in the rear view mirror, focussed and alert.

“Well no, but please tell me he knows what he’s doing.”

“He knows Mol, don’t worry, now keep your head down just in case.”

John’s eyes scanned their surroundings as the car emerged through the shutter into the dark streets of London. Sherlock drove as though the hounds of hell were at their heels, carrying them through the city at breakneck speeds. Molly kept her eyes closed, whether it was due to the looming threat or fear of car sickness she wasn’t sure, though she was thankful for the distraction it provided.

John watched for any sign that they were followed but saw nothing untoward. They were probably the most watched people in London, with their car of bodyguards and the cameras no doubt following their every move and the helicopter he could hear whirring away above them. Weighing the situation, the chances of anyone trying again to get to Molly tonight was remote, they would make sure the opportunity did not present itself. It was unlikely in the time since the attempt this afternoon that another plan could be made and executed.

In record time they arrived at the house without incident, Sherlock leapt from the car without cutting the engine, leaving it running as he hurried around the car to open the rear door. He leant into the car grabbed Molly’s hand and pulled her to the pavement. Urging her forwards and up the steps to the house, Sherlock checked over his shoulder to make sure John followed closely behind. As a group they surged up the steps grateful when the door opened before them.

“Sherlock, we can’t just leave the car there. Especially not running with the keys in!”

Molly looked back over her shoulder as she was ushered inside the hallway and John closed the door behind them all, sagging against it in relief. Molly sighed and all but collapsed in a heap, sliding down the wall to sit on the tiled floor. Sherlock looked between the two as he engaged the security to again cover the main door as well as the rest of the house.

“Don’t concern yourself with the car Molly, one of the guards will take it back to the garage from where it came. Tea, John?”

“Yeah, in a second Sherlock, just give me a minute to catch my breath?”  
“I am capable of making Tea John. I was offering, not requesting, though do not get used to it.”

John looked up to see Sherlock smile wickedly before turning on his heel and making his way to the kitchen.

“Do we follow him? I don’t want him burning my kitchen down you know.”

“I’m relatively sure he wouldn’t, but come on Mol, the chairs in the kitchen have got to be more comfortable than the cold floor.”

Together with heavy feet they dragged themselves to the kitchen to fall into chairs. Exhaling heavily, they looked on in amazement as Sherlock put the kettle on.

"John, I didn't even know he knew how."

"He saves it for special occasions."

"John, Molly, you are aware I can hear you."


	8. A Holmes Family dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gathering the data. Plans are made over the kitchen table. Searching for clues and information as to who is responsible for Molly being followed. 
> 
> Quite a long one and a big thank you to MyCitrusPocket for her patience and amazing help. Any faults that remain are my fault. x

Molly, Sherlock and John sat in the comfort of the warm, cosy kitchen.

"Sherlock please, eat a biscuit, just one. You haven't eaten today."

John sat sideways in his chair facing Sherlock, holding a biscuit to his lips.

"A case John, we have a case!"

“Eat the damn biscuit or you're sleeping on the sofa!"

Molly tried to hide her laugh as she watched the exchange. She knew for a fact Sherlock did this deliberately to make John pay attention to him. He'd eaten three biscuits when John nipped to the loo, but it wasn't her place to intrude on this little ritual of theirs.

"Where is my brother? I told him to gather the information and bring it here quickly! Molly, I need to tell me everything that happened today."

"I've told you everything; Mycroft told you everything when we were at his office earlier. I don't know anything more."

Molly's phone chirruped, indicating a new message. She glanced down at the screen, smiling when she saw its sender.

Hello darling, your shopping will be arriving in 10 minutes. I will let them in so do no not be alarmed when they arrive. - My

"Molly, forget Mycroft, answer my questions. Have you had any strange phone calls? Noticed strange people following you before today? Anything at all outside of the normal? For goodness sake Molly, this is important!"

Sherlock had moved around the table and was standing next to Molly. He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him.

"Molly, there must be something you have failed to tell me!"

Molly was starting to panic, she knew Sherlock needed as much information as possible, but she’d told him everything. She wished she could tell him more, wished she’d seen something before today. She felt useless and completely lost.

"Sherlock, back off."

John reprimanded him sharply as he saw Molly's distress.

"Molly has told you everything she knows, wait until Mycroft gets here with whatever they have managed to uncover."

As Sherlock released her to return to the chair John pointed to while glaring at him, the front door flew open. John reacted instantly to the threat and pulled his gun, aiming at whoever entered. Sherlock was once again at Molly’s side pushing her behind him, shielding her with his body. They heard the shouting before he appeared in the kitchen door. Greg stormed into the room.

"Why the fuck have I only just been told? Molly, are you ok? I know I'm not in the secret club of anything but I'm a cop, I can help."

All the anger and tension drained from him in an instant as Molly moved around Sherlock's lithe frame. He reached for Molly and dragged her into a hug. He released her quickly to look down at her.

"Greg, it's ok. I'm fine. It feels like it happened ages ago but it was only a couple of hours. I'm not hurt, I'm sorry we didn't call straight away everything was just so chaotic(.)"

Greg looked to Sherlock and John.

"Where do we stand?"

John answered, as Sherlock made a disgusted noise.

"Mycroft is gathering all the information they have and bringing it here, he should be arriving soon. In the mean time we're keeping Molly safe and out of trouble."

The front door opened again, Molly's "That'll be the food shopping." Fell on deaf ears as she was pushed behind Greg. Molly rolled her eyes. She understood their actions, they were all brave men with strong protective instincts, but she couldn't live life hiding behind them.

"Mycroft let them in guys, it's ok."

Four of Mycroft's suited men staggered into the house, each laden down with bags. They looked up only to be confronted by three angry men, one with his gun drawn.

Greg spoke first as the men looked on in shock, clearly not expecting to be confronted by three angry men.

"Slowly, place the bags on the floor and leave quickly!"

The men instantly complied, almost scurrying from the house. Molly tried to see around Greg, having to settle for shouting thank you around his arm.

As the door shut once more, Sherlock moved to the shopping. The rest of them stood watching and waiting as he paced a circle around the bags. He crouched beside them, leant in close with his ear turned to the bags. Then he sniffed stood and wandered back to the kitchen. John rolled his eyes.

"Well, apparently they're safe."

With that, John moved to grab some of the bags and take them through to the kitchen, muttering under his breath as he walked by. Greg was still glaring at the door when Molly pushed around him to pick up more of the shopping. As she looked at the number of bags she wondered where she was going to put everything. When she had written the list in Mycroft's office, it really hasn't seemed that much. Ah well, by the looks of it there'd be plenty of people to feed at least.

"John, could you just stick the bags on the table for me? I’ll put it all away while you bring Greg up to date. Has anyone eaten? Greg? No? Ok I'll put something together."

Greg relented as Molly brushed past him her hands full of bags, and helped carry the rest through and place them on the table.

“Sure you don’t want a hand Mol?”

“No thanks, you three go on to the study, they can tell you what has happened so far. Get a drink, you know where My keeps it all. That way when My and Anthea get here with the new information, you can all discuss what we’re going to do next without having to go over anything”

The three of them looked at Molly as they began to leave the room. John clasped her shoulder as he passed by.

“If you need anything Mol, just shout we’ll come running.”

 

  
She stood, hands on her hips, just staring at everything still left to put away. She sighed loudly and glanced around the kitchen looking for inspiration. She could hear the odd loud swear word from the study. As she spun in a circle just about to give up and open a bottle of wine, her phone beeped.

Having trouble dearest? Exactly how many people are we intending to feed? – Yours

She chuckled aloud at his message. He might have a point there.

Not exactly sure, don’t remember putting this much on the list. Probably only 6 but I think I’m going to have to repurpose your precious wine fridge to find space for everything.- Mol

She stuffed her phone in her pocket and waited for his reply. Molly started(,) randomly grabbing packages and carted them to the pantry. It was already bulging at the seams but she was bored of organising it now. She stacked them haphazardly on shelves, shoving at things when they tried to topple over. She shut the door, hiding the mess.

We have two fridges and a pantry, what’s in them? –Yours

She leant her elbows on the kitchen island and rested her chin in her hands. She was getting emotional over stupid things, and she knew she was just transferring her emotions to something inconsequential but it didn’t stop the panic rising and her eyes starting to fill with tears. She blinked hard to keep them at bay.

Food! There’s food everywhere. God what did I do? – Mol

She didn’t move as she waited for his response, just stayed head in hands, concentrating on her breathing and calming herself down. It didn’t take long for his message to come through, but when it did she was calmer again.

It’s alright Mol. Don’t worry everything will be fine. I concede, as much as it pains me to say, do what you have to with the wine cooler. We will be leaving soon, should I arrange to have dinner brought to the house? – Yours

Molly was tempted, really tempted. She shook her head, thinking of everything she had just put away and what on earth she could make to feed them all. She really didn’t think people would want a sit down to eat a hot meal as they had so much to do, but she could arrange for them to have things to pick at if they wanted.

After I spent this much on all of this food? No, I’ll fill the table with finger foods we can pick at while we talk. How long ‘til you get home? –Mol xx

Molly pulled glasses down from the cupboards, moving to place them on the table. Whatever she put on the table she knew they would need wine and beer, they’d had a hell of a day and she knew for sure that she needed a drink.

Within the hour, tell Sherlock and Greg to stop pacing(,) they are ruining the carpet.- Yours

I’ll go tell them, hurry home and be careful. I love you- Mol xx

The four of them sat around the large wooden dining table. Sherlock was silent, unnaturally still in his seat as he disappeared into his “Mind Palace”. The others just talked around him. Small talk about nothing in particular, filling the silence while they waited for Mycroft and Anthea to arrive, their thoughts on the files they would bring. No one sure what they would find, but hoping that whatever they contained, it would help solve the puzzle that lay before them. Molly sipped at her wine, rolling the stem of the glass between her fingers distractedly. Seeing as she’d had to move them out of the fridge, it had seemed a shame not to open at least one to enjoy. The conversations weren’t uncomfortable but they were all most definitely fidgeting impatiently. Molly watched them interact. They were all men of action, though they each approached situations in different ways, they were all focussed on a common goal. Who had dared to come for one of their family? She was just glad she didn’t have to face these men as an enemy. The front door opened, startling Molly into focus.

A shout of "Just us!" from Anthea calmed the tension instantly. Laden down with files, she stomped to the table, unceremoniously dumping them on the surface where they scattered haphazardly making, them each grab for their glasses to move them out of the way. Mycroft came into the room, slightly more composed than Anthea, but equally as burdened. He looked at Molly and smiled. A real smile that reached his eyes and it was directed straight at her, and only for her He saved these for her and she couldn’t help but return it whole heartedly.

“Any more wine Mols?”

Anthea bustled around the kitchen, pulling down a glass and going in search of the bottle.

“Red’s on the counter next to the fridge, White’s in the cooler on the side board.”

“Perfect Mols, thanks.”

 

Now with a full glass, Anthea came around the table looking for an empty chair. She walked up behind Greg and leant over his shoulder to place her glass on the table.

“Are we getting this show on the road or what?”

Anthea slid her arms around Greg’s neck pressing her lips to his hair, he took her right hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

Greg scooted his chair back from the table, Anthea slid around him to sit across his lap. She kept her left arm draped across his shoulder and he rested his head against her momentarily before she leant down to kiss him quickly on the lips.

“Did they bring you up to speed?”

Anthea asked, while she settled against him. Picking her wine up from the table, she looked at Greg and he nodded.

“I’m sorry we didn’t call straight away, I knew you were busy and couldn’t get away immediately, so we made the decision to wait until you could. I’m sorry if it was the wrong decision. Please forgive me?”

Rationally he knew she was right, he wouldn’t have been able to leave. As much as he would have wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to meet them all straight away. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to let her know he understood. Trying to convey with his touch that he thanked her, she understood he would have been pulled in two directions and tried to spare him that. He had received her call as soon as the case was at a point he could leave his team in charge. That told him she had been waiting and watching. Amidst the chaos of trying to cope with the situation as it presented itself, she had added to her burden to lighten his. She had worked side by side with Mycroft, reacting to a situation that threatened her friend and still she thought of him. He closed his eyes and held her close. She relaxed into him, allowing them a few moments before they had to focus once more.

 

Mycroft stood at Molly’s side and she leant in close, tilting her head to draw in his scent. Eyes closing as she breathed in deeply. His hand massaging at her neck, he addressed their amassed family.

“Firstly, thank you for everything you have done today and for what we will likely do together over the coming days. We don’t know what we face, but hopefully the answer is somewhere amongst this sea of files before us. Please select one and start looking for anything that seems relative when linked to what we already know.”

Four sets of hands reached into the centre of the table, plucking files randomly from the mound. Molly rose from her chair pushing Mycroft into her vacated seat.

“I know no one has eaten and everyone is going to be busy so I’ve just thrown things at plates that you can pick at while we go through this lot.”

Mycroft squeezed Molly’s hand as she drew away to bring them food, she constantly amazed him. With everything she had been through today, she still mothered everyone. Making sure they were as cared for as she could. She was the most selfless person he had ever known and his heart swelled with emotion just thinking about her. He could see her in this kitchen as they grew old together. The room filled with love, Molly and little red haired elfin faced children laughing and causing chaos. He hadn’t realised how much that image had wormed its way into his soul. He wanted a future with Molly, he wanted it all. He would be damned if someone was going to take that possibility away from them by harming her. He watched her busy herself around the kitchen before he turned and Sherlock caught his attention with a mixed look of consternation and confusion. He directed his eyes from Mycroft to the pile of paper between them, his eyebrow raised with his silent demand. Mycroft bristled at his brother but before one of their spats could start, John placed a hand on Sherlock’s arm. The move was enough to break his brother’s concentration and have him looking quickly to John and then back to the file in his hands. John’s effect on Sherlock was truly an amazing thing.

Mycroft selected a file and placed all his focus on its content. Molly placed plates of food on the table and took the chair to his right. She looked at the files still waiting and sorted through them, cataloguing the information contained into piles of related content.

Molly hated that she was so far out of her area of expertise, she couldn’t really help. These people all gathered and poured over the information, all knew what they were looking for. They were trained for this, be it by the police or the government or just for a love of solving problems. She was intelligent, her career spoke for that but it wasn’t helping her now. She couldn’t help work through the information, she would miss more than she found. The smallest clue could be invaluable and she couldn’t trust herself to jeopardise the work of her family. So while she couldn’t go through the files, she could try and help them as much as she could while they did. She couldn’t sit here feeling useless, fidgeting in her chair was just going to distract them. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed 9 o’clock and the work here was just getting started. They were going to need coffee, lots of it. That would give her purpose and keep her hands busy. She rose from her chair again, her movement making Mycroft look to her, questioning her with a raise of his eyebrows. She smiled at him and patted his shoulder to reassure him she was ok as she moved away. She started the coffee maker, setting it to make a large pot. As she waited for it to bubble away she tried to think of other things she could do. She turned to face them all at the table, heads down in concentration.

“Can I get anything for anyone?”

Anthea looked up from the seat she’d taken next to Greg. She was in a separate chair but still their bodies touched from shoulder to knee. Maybe not the most practical position considering the space they each needed for the papers spread before them(,) but they made it work effortlessly.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got some pens and paper, have you Mols?”

Molly nodded and shot off to Mycroft’s study, from the desk draw she dragged a pad of paper for each of them and a collection of pens from the organiser on top. For the age of computers, Mycroft still enjoyed having pens and paper to hand. Hurrying back to the kitchen, she distributed them. Sherlock didn’t look up when she placed them at his side, she didn’t expect him to need them but he could have them anyway. A chorus of distracted thanks followed.

They would need places to sleep, Molly decided. They had each stayed at the house at some point or other in the past, so it wouldn’t be an issue. They even had their usual rooms. She didn’t want to let them out of her sight, she wanted them close. A security blanket, she could believe they were safe if they were under this roof. Molly knew that in the coming days there would likely be a considerable amount of danger, but for now she could allow herself to imagine they were safe and sound under her roof.

Quietly she slipped back out into the hallway. Everyone at the table noted her absence. Anthea looked to Mycroft and jerked her head in Molly’s direction. Mycroft understood the instruction. Follow her.

 

Mycroft found Molly about to head up the stairs. She turned standing on the second step as he rounded the banister. He opened his arms and she stepped down and into them.

“Molly?”

“I’m ok I’m just going to go and sort the bedrooms, I want everyone to stay here My. Until this is over, I want them here where they can be safer. I don’t want to lose anyone Mycroft. Inside this house there’s more safety than anywhere else. I know it’s irrational, I know of all the people here I’m the most vulnerable, but please?”

Her eyes wide she stared at him, looking a little lost and for the first time he saw her fear. Not for herself, but for them. He held her close, speaking close to her ear.

“Of course my dear, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I confess I assumed they would stay, it did not occur to me to even ask. Molly there is one more thing I must ask of you, please stay away from the hospital, I don’t want you to be at greater risk, just until this situation is concluded. I know you do not appreciate it when I step in and arrange things without discussing it with you, but I have arranged an absence from work for you. Please don’t be angry. Please don’t argue, just allow me this?”

Molly sagged against him.

“I won’t argue My, thank you. Thank you for thinking of the things I don’t and for thinking of me. I want to do anything I can to help, if the only thing I can do is try to keep myself from being an easy target? Then that’s what I’ll do. Now, go on back to the table with you. I won’t be long, I’m just going upstairs, I’ll back soon.”

They released each other and he stepped back as she turned to ascend the stairs, twisting her head to look over her shoulder and smiled down at him.

“I’m doing ok My, I’ll be ok. Just having a moment.”

She blew him a kiss as she reached the top step.

“Go, now, or Sherlock will start his dramatics, and it’s too late for that.”

Relieved that Molly was holding together for the time being, he knew the main test would be later when they tried to sleep, but they would deal with that together if the time came. He glanced down as he felt pressure against his shins, Toby wound himself around his legs, rubbing his head against his trousers. He leant down to scratch Toby’s ears.

“Hello little friend. Where have you been hiding?”

Toby stretched into his hand, closing his eyes and purring. Then he shot up the stairs after Molly. Mycroft chuckled at his antics and headed back to the kitchen, Sherlock would indeed chastise him if he were absent for much longer.

 

When Molly came back to the kitchen, they were all deep in discussion. Toby followed tight at her heel crying for his dinner. 

“I hear you Toby, I’m going, I’m going.”

Fetching a pouch of cat food from the pantry, Molly moved across the kitchen to Toby’s bowls between the table and the glass wall that opened into the garden. Toby now quietly eating in the corner Molly straightened and headed towards the table. Greg was speaking and pointing at a photograph.

“I know this one, this was the case I was working before Anthea called. We have his body in the morgue. It washed up between Hungerford Bridge and Waterloo Bridge this morning, caught on the legs of festival pier. One bullet to the head, entry wound centre of the forehead. No ID on him yet. We’re lucky, if he’d made it one more bridge down the Thames and he’d have been on the City’s patch rather than Yard. Sherlock, I can take you to the body in the morning?”

“Of course Lestrade, we can hardly expect accurate information to be gathered by the dullards the Yard insists on employing. Brother, are you not able to do something about that? You are aware it would make my work much easier?”

Mycroft barely acknowledged Sherlock’s baiting.

“No Sherlock, you would quickly tire if the cases you aided with were easier. You will simply have to cope.”

Greg had photographs spread out in front of him. Some colour, some black and white CCTV print outs. All pictures of Hirsch and people he had been in contact with. As she passed behind Greg, Molly caught sight of a close up of a meeting between the man who followed her and someone she recognised. Her hand flew to her mouth, her breath drawing in quickly.

“I know that man!”

All the eyes in the room swivelled to her instantly. Greg spoke first, glancing at the photos.

“Which one Mol?”

She pointed to the picture right in front of him.

“That one, he works at St Barts. Upstairs in one of the labs, he works a lot of nights so I’ve seen him around the building. He asked me to go for coffee, I said no. His name’s Tom something. Tom Veinberg I think. He’ll be on the hospital records.”

Anthea shot up from her chair, knocking it backwards onto two legs until Greg steadied it again. She riffled through a pile of files she had already looked at.

“Shit, I’ve seen it here somewhere, I’ve seen that name. I know I have.”

She triumphantly held up a file.

“Here, I knew it. Suspected alias’ for Itamar Feigler. Ex Mossad, now a mercenary. There’s never been a photograph confirmed as him, just a list of names. No one has been able to put them together. He’s been assumed dead for a couple of years, last heard of in South America with Hirsch. A connection Mol! A God damn connection, I could kiss you right now!”

Well, apparently that image worked for the straight men at the table, Greg and Mycroft’s eyes glazed, John laughed and Sherlock looked confused for a moment, before rolling his eyes and snorting.

“Minds from the gutter guys, we’ve got something we can work with.”

Anthea snapped, as she brandished the file before her.

Mycroft’s mind began to whir, he reached for his phone. It was time he called an old friend. If the man had been Mossad, chances are he knew someone who might be able to give them more information. Of all the people around the table, he was so proud that Molly had been the one to make the first connection. The one person who feared she couldn’t be of use had given them their first lead.

“I have to make a call. Please continue to search amongst all of this information for more connections. The more we know and the quicker we know it, the better.”

As Mycroft walked towards the study, the rest of them resumed their hunched positions at the table. Molly sat in Mycroft’s empty chair and John handed her a file.

“Mol, just look for anything that might help, no matter how small. It might help us find them. You’re good with details, you solve puzzles every day at work. It’s just the same. We all need to look at these photos, if someone was placed in St Barts to monitor you, maybe we’ve each missed something. Stop pulling that face Sherlock.”

John hadn’t even had to look at Sherlock to know exactly what he was doing. Molly loved to watch them interact. She remembered the crazed, flighty man she had first met. When she compared him to the man she saw now, it brought a smile to her heart. John grounded Sherlock, he held him together with will power alone some days, but he did hold him together. For that she would always love John, he took care of the man she cared for like a brother. They sat quietly for an hour, each intently going over the papers, trying to take everything in. John spoke and broke her reverie.

“I’ve got Tom Veinberg’s flight manifest from three months ago, flight from EZE to LHR? I know London Heathrow. Anyone know EZE?”

Without hesitation Sherlock answered.

“Buenos Aires. Ministro Pistarini international airport. We need to track each of the people on that list. We need to know if he came in alone or if there were others with him. John, go through the list, eliminate women and children. These people will not have women in their number. Pay close attention to British, Australian and South African possibilities. Anthea, you have access to passport photographs from immigration at Heathrow? Good. We want faces to the names, see if they match any of the pictures we have here. It is all going to trace back through the money. It’s always money, rarely creative mercenaries. These men do not take jobs for their own agenda, they are working for someone and this someone is who we need to find. These men are just a means to an end, pawns in a greater game. I need to speak to my brother.”

Sherlock almost ran from the room in his excitement, his energy restored with the new data. He was the only one, the others eyes were drooping, but they hurried to gather the details Sherlock had requested. Molly moved to the coffee maker, the jug almost empty now. She poured away what was left and set a new pot. She moved around the table, refilling empty mugs or setting new steaming cups in the place of half filled cold cups. 

Mycroft and Sherlock were ensconced in the study for over an hour. When they emerged, everyone looked up from their work. Faces pale and drawn at the late hour. John rubbed his eyes but sat up straighter, questioning Sherlock with a raised brow. As Mycroft began they all listened intently, picking up cups hoping the caffeine would give them just that little extra boost. Anthea glanced from the phone in her hands, she’d been going over the information with the rest of them, but had also been in constant contact with the teams at the office. Giving instructions and getting updates. Her fingers stilled as Mycroft began to speak.

"Sherlock and I will speak to Hirsch tomorrow. I received an update from the interrogation team, he isn't speaking. We will grace his presence tomorrow evening and see what we can uncover."

Greg narrowed his eyes, he could read the subtext behind Mycroft's words. They were sparing him the details, ordinarily he’d be annoyed if not angry at being left out, but in this case they tried to protect him. But it was the Government making the decision and he worked for the Government didn’t he? The Government’s decision stood, he did as he was instructed, to a point at least. His internal conflict was not as pronounced as he might have thought it would be. The most important thing was that he agreed with the choice on a personal level. This was a situation so outside of the norm that they had to set aside previously set boundaries. The unknown entity they were up against certainly wasn't going to play by the rules. To protect their strange yet functioning family, the rules had to be set aside to ensure their safety. As he thought of family, his attention turned to the beautiful woman pressed along his side. She had her head against his shoulder as she listened. Her eyes were heavy and she buried a yawn against his sleeve. When he thought about Anthea being in danger, he realised he didn't object nearly as much as he probably should have, but he wasn't going to think about it now. He turned his attention back to Mycroft.

"John, if you would accompany Sherlock and Greg to the morgue tomorrow? Please see what details can be garnered from the body of Itamar Feigler? I will be going to the office, just for a short while. Though they will contact Anthea should they uncover anything, my presence is required for a time. Anthea, I need you to go over all of the information that comes in. It will all be delivered directly to the house or sent by email, normal procedure. You can set up in my study, it has everything you will need. Contact whomever you need to depending on the information, I will check in periodically. Now, where do we stand with what we currently have and how much is there left to go through?"

"Just what's left in the middle, we've each looked at all the files to make sure we aren't missing anything. I've got the list from the flight manifest down to a likely list of candidates, Anthea had sent that off to someone somewhere to track them down, apparently they should have some information by morning."

John looked to Anthea to check he was right, she nodded from her comfy spot but didn't speak. letting John continue.

"There's someone somewhere, trying to trace the money from the car and plane ticket we know about. Still no idea where they were staying, so we can't work back from that. Also we’re waiting for the Sat Nav info from the support car. You never know, it might lead us somewhere. One of your techies somewhere is getting the data so we can map it out. We have heard that the phones the support team had don’t have anything we can work with. So basically we're waiting on most of it. We can probably get through these files tonight, but I'm not sure about all the CCTV footage you have. We’ll have to find time to go through it all. Or maybe not, maybe the photos are enough. I just don't know.”

John crossed his arms on the table and rested his head against his makeshift pillow. Sherlock moved from Mycroft’s side to stand behind John’s chair. He placed his hands on his shoulders and gently rubbed at the tension there. Outside of the company of family this would not have happened, Sherlock still too wary of lingering displays of affection in public. He revelled in the attention he received from John at all times, but caring about another person and being in a relationship was still so new to him, he was learning as they went along. In the company of family, Sherlock could relax and allow himself the comfort of touching John when he wanted and John would never deny him.

“I shall watch the footage John, any of you are likely to miss things in your current state.”

John didn’t raise his head but groaned when Sherlock’s fingers moved to massage his neck.

“Sherlock, I can’t even work out if that was an insult so I’m going to ignore it. Keep massaging though, feels nice.” 

The others looked on, holding in chuckles at the display. Mycroft met Molly’s eyes as they looked on with pride at the man Sherlock was becoming, John was helping him grow and change, it was a wonderful thing to see.

“Come along brother, we have work to do. These files will not read themselves, the quicker we conclude, the better.”

\-------(0000)------

 

Mycroft reached to grab another file from the middle of the table, only to find empty space under his hand. He looked and sure enough they'd managed to get through them all. He was confident that they had not missed anything, with six of them reading each file, it would be nearly impossible. He trusted that the intensity with which they searched and the very personal nature of the situation meant they would see everything. He looked around the table and saw just how exhausted they were. Only Sherlock appeared his usual unfazed self, though when he was this involved in a case he’d work himself until he fell where he stood. John stifled a yawn and his eyes crossed struggling to maintain control of his vision. Anthea had fallen asleep, her head resting against Greg, her breathing deep and even. It appeared she had succumbed to dreams some time ago. Greg was still awake and reading but he had gradually lowered in the chair. His eyes were heavy, blinking rapidly. Against his own side, where he had pulled her chair close, Molly slumped against him. Her head nodded, occasionally brushing against his arm as she fought sleep. He'd pushed them as far as they could go tonight. Everyone needed to relax and have a chance to go over the events of the day. Even for them this had to be some kind of record.

"I think it's time we called it a night."

Molly jumped, jerking awake as his voice broke the silence. John and Greg both had looks of relief on their faces. Neither Sherlock nor Anthea moved.

"It would ease our minds if you would all agree to stay here at the house, at least for the time being. Molly has prepared your usual rooms, if you are amenable?"

"Don't know about you two Greg, but I just assumed we were anyway. Come on Sherlock, bed. Sherlock come on, snap out of it, we’re going and don’t argue."

"John, I have to watch the video now, there's no time for sleeping. I'm not tired John! John, are you listening to me?"

"No, come on."

John didn't look at Sherlock, just took his hand and pulled him along behind him like a petulant child.

"You can watch it in the morning, it’ll still be there. Night everyone."

Mycroft and Greg looked at each other, eyes full of laughter at Sherlock’s whining as he was pulled along.

He was all talk, John wasn't using enough effort for Sherlock to be resisting. They had very strange routines, but it worked for them. Mycroft was extremely grateful for that. He was just happy he no longer had to try and manage his brother alone. John was the making of Sherlock and they were a truly perfect match.

Molly wrapped herself around his arm.

"Us too My, let’s leave all this, I’ll tidy up in the morning."

Greg gently nudged Anthea awake.

"Come on sleeping beauty, bedtime."

She sat up in her chair for a moment, groggy and disoriented.

"Files, got to finish."

"It’s ok Anth, We're done. Don’t scowl at me, I read them twice."

"Should have woken me."

"When you're so pretty when you sleep? Nah."

He pulled her from the chair. Sleepily, she raised her arms and put them around his neck, with puppy dog eyes she looked at him and pouted. He rolled his eyes, but knowing what she wanted, he turned in her arms.

"Jump then."

Anthea laughed huskily and jumped on his back. He grasped her thighs as they wrapped around his hips and turned to Mycroft and Molly.

"Don't even ask. Night you two."

With a laugh from both of them, they set off down the hall to the stairs. Anthea shouting her goodnights as she was piggy backed to bed. 

Molly started to laugh first but was quickly joined by Mycroft.

"Well, they are never boring are they? Come on My, let’s lock up and get to bed."

As he waited by the door, Molly checked the coffee maker was off and flicked off the under cabinet lights. She did a quick spin to check there was nothing else and walked towards Mycroft, smiling up at him as she neared him. He slid his arm around her waist and tugged her close against him. Together they moved through the house extinguishing lights. When they reached the hall, Mycroft checked the alarm system once more. He hesitated and his hand reached for the phone in his pocket but not taking it out.

"You want to make one more call to the office(,) don't you? It's ok you know. Let’s go into the study, you can make your call and I’ll wait on the sofa. Then we can go up." 

In the study, Molly curled up on the sofa, burying her head in the cushions and closing her eyes. She could hear Mycroft talking away in the background, but she couldn’t hear his exact words. She walked the fine line between the waking world and sleep.

Even Mycroft was feeling the exertions of the day catching up on him. After speaking to the team leader he had assigned to the case and had a progress report, he was feeling a little more secure. The house was monitored externally for any signs of trouble. With the work they had done at the house and the work that continued to be done by his people at the office, he was now in a place he thought he might actually be able to sleep. His call had lasted longer than he had expected, by the time he finally disconnected and turned from the desk, Molly was fast asleep. As tempted as he was to join her on the settee, they spent far too many nights sleeping there. Molly deserved the comfort of their bed.

He crouched by her head and gently woke her with a kiss. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep. Are we ready?”

She struggled to escape the clutches of the settee, shaking his head at her floundering he may have laughed just a little. She scowled up at him, he took pity on her and taking her hand pulled her upright and into his arms.

“Are we done fighting with the furniture darling?”

“Shut it or you’ll be sleeping on it. On your own I might add.”  
With what he hoped was a suitably apologetic face, he gazed down at her.

“I am sorry darling, don’t make me sleep alone.”

Pulling him out of the study and to the stairs, she paused and turned.

“I didn’t believe that face when I met you Mycroft Holmes, not going to start believing it now! I’m tired, let’s go.”


	9. Angel of the morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the dinner meeting. 
> 
> Molly woke much earlier than she normally did if she didn't have to be in work. The sky was only just beginning to lighten outside the window. Though with spring not yet arrived, that still only happened around seven am. She slid gently from the bed, careful not to wake Mycroft.

Molly woke much earlier than she normally did if she didn't have to be in work. The sky was only just beginning to lighten outside the window. Though with spring not yet arrived, that still only happened around seven am. She slid gently from the bed, careful not to wake Mycroft. From the side of the bed she looked down at him in the dimness. Even in sleep he looked tired, there were dark circles under his eyes and stress lines around his forehead, she hoped he’d sleep a little longer. Pushing her arms into the sleeves of her dressing gown, she snuck out of their room. She listened for a moment but the rest of the house was still quiet. Molly tiptoed down the hall, thankful for the lack of squeaky floorboards. As she reached the top of the stairs, she noticed flickering light coming from the study. She moved down the stairs quickly, as she reached the bottom, she had an uninstructed view into the room. Sherlock crouched in his birdlike fashion at one end of the sofa, staring at what she could only imagine were every television screen and computer monitor they had in the house.

"Sherlock, how on earth did you manage to get all of these without waking us up?"

He barely glanced sideways at her, but in a flurry of movement he was sprawled against the cushions with his bare feet on the floor.

"You are all surprisingly heavy sleepers. Sleep at a time like this, really? When there's so much to do!"

Molly wrapped her dressing gown around her and tied it tightly. Walking into the room she settled next to Sherlock, one leg beneath her, facing him. She reached towards him and brushed an errant curl from his forehead, stroking her hand across his head.

"How long have you been down here, Sweetie? Did you get any sleep at all?"

"More than was required I assure you. John was most persistent."

Though his words were his normal cool expressions, he did lean into her touch slightly.

"I'm going to start some breakfast, I figure people will be moving around soon and I want everyone to have something before they leave. Do you want me to bring you some toast? If you eat before he comes down you can drive him crazy refusing when he tried to get you to have breakfast. You always have his full attention you know, you don't need to be difficult just to get him to focus on you." 

He harrumphed and shrugged his shoulders. Molly smiled and pushed herself to standing, pausing momentarily to drop a kiss to the top of his head.

"I'll bring you some toast."

He didn't remove his eyes from the screens playing hours of footage at increased speed. How he was keeping track of everything she didn't know, but he wouldn't miss anything that might help.

"Thank you Molly."

"No problem, Sweetie, I’ll be back soon."

Hurrying to the kitchen, Molly switched only the under cabinet lights on. They bathed the kitchen in a warm glow as Molly got to work. She threw two pieces of bread in the toaster and pressed the plunger. If she wasn't quick John would be down looking for Sherlock, and then he’d never eat. It frustrated both(,) John and Molly that Sherlock barely ate, but they had worked out a system to try and get food into the stubborn consulting detective. When Molly looked at Sherlock, yes she saw the genius but more importantly to her, she saw a little boy she wanted to look after. So if this is what it took to get him to eat, she would continue the charade.

 

The toaster popped and Molly quickly buttered the slices before practically running the plate to Sherlock. She pressed it into his hands and headed back to the kitchen with simple instructions.

“Eat, quickly, you know John will be down soon. Bring your plate to the kitchen when you’re done Sweetie.” 

 

\-----(000)-----

Anthea appeared, still yawning and rubbing sleep from her eyes, just as Molly was pouring juice into glasses. Placing the jug on the table, Molly looked over her shoulder towards the door. Laughter exploded from here when she saw the sight of Anthea in the doorway. 

“Looking good A.”

Anthea looked at Molly through one still half closed eye, her hand still rubbing at the other.

“Screw you Mols, you appear to be intimately acquainted with the same hedge I was dragged through last night”

They stood and looked at each other, taking in crazed bed hair, rumpled and twisted pyjamas and under eye bags.

“How about we don’t mention it again and just get on with the morning?”

“Fair enough, truce? What can I do to help?”

“Are the others coming?”

Anthea waved her arm at the door absently.

“You’ll hear them in a minute, they were starting to drag themselves from beds when I wandered down the hall. Greg had a tantrum but should be up soon.”

“I’ve just got eggs to scramble, everything else is ready.”

“Jesus Mol, what time did you get up?”

Anthea snagged a piece of toast and bit into it as she wandered over to the coffee maker.

"I’ve been up for a while. Coffee is ready to go A, just press the button and it'll do its thing"

Greg and John stumbled into the kitchen(,) both bleary eyed and uncoordinated.

"Breakfast won't be a minute. Coffee is on, the tea pot is on the table. Did either of you hear My moving about when you came down?"

Both men shook their heads and shuffled into the kitchen. John plonked himself at the table, dropping heavily into the chair rolling his shoulders.

Greg sidled up behind Anthea and sliding his arms around her waist pulled her against him.

"Take it you’re done with your tantrum then?"

"Sorry Anthea, please forgive me? You look wonderful this morning. Love you."

"Yes you are forgiven Mr I-hate-mornings. You're still not getting the first cup of coffee."

He huffed against her ear.

"Damn it! Fine, I'm staying here though."

Pulling her tighter against him, he placed his chin on her shoulder and closed his eyes. Anthea leant into his chest, resting her arms over his. Together they waited for the coffee machine to gift them the hot liquid they both needed in order to function.

Molly gave the egg mixture one last whisk before she poured it into the pan. John spoke from the table.

"Do you need a hand Mol?"

"Thanks John, could you grab the stuff keeping warm in the oven and stick it on the table for me?"

"Of course Mol, thank you for all of this. It's not easy cooking for 6, especially when you’re as tired as they are. Has his lordship eaten?"

John started removing covered plates from the oven and moved them to the centre of the table.

"I took him some toast, he was supposed to bring the plate back. If you go get him and he's hidden the plate, he's probably eaten it."

John pecked her on the cheek as he returned to the table, carrying a heavy dish full of bacon and sausages. He placed it on a trivet in the middle of the table and eyed the mountain of food, from hot breakfast to fruit and croissants.

"Thanks Mol, you're a miracle worker. I’m going to go get Sherlock, even if he won’t eat anything else, at least he’ll get a break from watching all that video."

Molly listened for signs of Mycroft but couldn't hear him moving around upstairs. Transferring the scrambled egg to a large bowl, she turned off the cooker and deposited the bowl on the full table. Greg and Anthea(,) now with steaming cups(,) sat at the table.

"Dig in guys, it'll only go cold. I'm going to take a tray up to My, you know where everything is if I missed something. Enjoy."  
She filled two plates with eggs and toast, snatching a couple of croissants, some strawberries and banana with yogurt to place everything on a large tray with tea and juice. Carrying the heavy tray in to the hall, she shouted into the study as she passed.

"Breakfast is on the table."

Not stopping to see if she got a reaction, she started up the stairs.

\-----(000)------

 

Molly slowly edged the bedroom door open, being careful not to unbalance and drop their breakfast. Light spilled in from the hall and fell across Mycroft’s face, he slept deeply and didn’t flinch at the rattle of crockery when she placed the tray on the large blanket box at the end of the bed. Slowly, Molly edged her way on to the thick mattress to lie face to face with him on top of the soft gold brocade duvet. With her right arm bent under her, she rested her head on her palm. With her left hand she reached to brush at his hair, smoothing it back against his head, he stirred but didn’t wake. Molly wished she could leave him to sleep a little longer, but she knew he would be annoyed that he had slept this long, no matter how much he needed it. She had to strike a fine balance between supporting and caring for Mycroft.

Enjoying the feel of Mycoft’s hair through her fingers, she buried her hand in her hair and cradled his head.

“Come on Honey, open those beautiful grey eyes for me.”

Mycroft’s eyes flickered at the sound of her voice and Molly moved in closer. Lowering her voice she whispered.

“Wakey, Wakey, rise and shine, time to face the day Sweetheart. I brought breakfast.”

Mycroft didn’t open his eyes but one side of his mouth quirked.

“Are you trying to bribe the Government? With breakfast?"

He paused briefly.

“What kind of breakfast?”

Molly pressed a quick kiss to his temple before settling back again, she allowed herself to watch him.

"Eggs, toast, croissants, fruit and yogurt. If you want bacon and sausages I’ll go get you some from downstairs, but you aren’t usually bothered by them."

Finally he opened the eye not squashed against the pillows and slid his arm around her waist.

“Good morning, Dearest. What time is it?”

“Later than you’d like. It’s not quite nine. But shh, no one else is ready yet. I've left them all downstairs sitting down to eat. You needed the sleep.”

He turned his head to bury his face in his pillow and groaned.

"However hard everyone else works, you work harder. Someone has to watch out for you My, and now you've got me. Now come on sit up(,) your food is going cold."

Mycroft levered himself to sit with his back against the heavy wooden headboard. The duvet slid low, baring him to the waist.

Molly looked up at him, her mouth going dry at the sight. His hair mussed and eyes still heavy, everything about him just called for her to lock the bedroom door and have her wicked way with him. She could barely tear her eyes from him, his alabaster skin, dotted with the freckles that she loved, and marred by the scars she wasn’t quite so enamoured with. Sherlock mocked him about his weight, but Molly knew as soon as he was out of those suits it wasn't softness that made him larger, far from it. He was solid and her hands just itched to touch. Trying to control her breathing was proving difficult, her breaths almost panting from her as her eyes roamed his body. Knowing he was aware just how much she always wanted him she couldn’t look him in the eye. She had to focus, they didn't exactly have time for what she would like to do to him.

"Behave My, we don't have enough time for that."

Mycroft didn’t speak but continued to watch her while he absentmindedly rubbed at his collarbone. Molly rolled over, using the momentum to sit, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. With a little hop she jumped down from the high bed. Picking the tray up from the chest, she strode to Mycroft’s side of the bed, depositing the tray on his lap and moving the drinks to the side table. Mycroft steadied the tray as she clambered over his legs to sit next to him at the head of the bed. Once the bed stopped rocking, Mycroft released the tray and removed the plate covers.

“This smells wonderful Molly. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, pass me the tea will you?”

“I’ll be mother.”

“God, don’t say that it’s creepy, I know you do it on purpose! Oh and I refuse to call you daddy either, Mother and Daddy both off limits!” 

Mycroft swallowed the wrong way, coughing and choking he glared at her.

“Don’t you turn that look on me Mycroft Holmes, I was just saying. Now eat, they’ll come looking for us soon.”

Taking a sip of tea, he raised his eyebrow in challenge.

“Sherlock will, he’s only left you this long because he was watching the tapes.”

“I assumed so. As much as I wish to ignore the outside world(,) it encroaches by the minute. There is so much to do Molly.”

Molly speared some egg with her fork and lifted it to his lips. Mycroft let Molly feed him whilst holding her gaze.

“And it will wait an hour. Breakfast, shower and then the world. The search is still on, you know it is. You've got good people Mycroft, trust them enough to do what you asked them to."

"I find it troubling, to entrust even the smallest part of this to others."

She handed him the fork, pressing it into his hand. 

"Then stop delaying and we’ll have you ready to go in thirty minutes rather than an hour."

With a tilt of his head he acquiesced, moved the fork to his right hand and took hers with his left to rest on the bed between them, his thumb idly stroking over hers. 

 

\-----(000)-----

Molly centred Mycroft's tie then ran her fingers across his collar and down to rest against his waistcoat clad chest.

"Pocket watch?"

She questioned, looking towards the dresser.

"The half hunter, if you please, my dear."

Molly lifted the watch and chain from the dresser, she placed it in his pocket and slid the t-bar through his buttonhole. The gold of the watch chain against the charcoal pinstripe held just the right amount of drama to Mycroft's dress.

"Perfect as always, now you're ready to take over the world."

They both enjoyed this, the intimacy of one helping to dress the other. This time Molly was helping Mycroft, but next time it could be him helping with her dress or jewellery or attaching suspenders to stockings, though he did prefer taking suspenders off stockings. They had settled together so perfectly, neither could imagine a future without the other. Molly looked at the bedside clock.

"Not bad, Mr Holmes. Forty five minutes from breakfast to battle ready. We're getting quicker. Now let’s go, everyone should be about ready to go, I heard them coming upstairs when you were in the shower."

Molly looked Mycroft over once more before nodding her approval and turning to the door. Catching sight of herself in the full length mirror on the wall, she saw their reflections. Quite the pair, he in his perfect pinstripe suit and she in her night clothes, it was quite the domestic image. She couldn't help but stare at him as he pocketed his phone. His movements precise as with sharp eyes he made sure he forgot nothing. He turned towards her and caught her watching him in the mirror. 

"Ready Dearest? Let us face the realities beyond our door together. Starting with my brother, I wish to see what he has discovered." 

He held out his hand and she rested her fingers in his palm.

"With you My? I’ll face anything that comes at us.”

 

They found Sherlock back in situ in the study. He had returned to watching footage but only a few of the monitors remained in use. 

“Brother, you deemed it time to show your face then? Some of us have been busy while you slept at your leisure.”

Molly bristled and before Mycroft could speak, jumped into the conversation.

“Sherlock, pack it in, now is not the time for that.”

As though chastised by a parent, Sherlock pouted.

“Fine, I’ve noted some address’ of interest and given the information to Anthea. There are a few that appear on several occasions when in connection to people who appear to have more than a passing involvement with Hirsch. I’ve cross referenced the men we know and listed other possible members of Hirsch’s team. With the better images I have been able to study their expressions and determine there are three other men we need to identify. They do not appear to be within the close circle of the plot, but they have in some way contributed to the cause. Anthea and your team must be trusted to work with the information I have supplied and come back to me with details I can work with. Ordinarily I would do this myself but we do not have the time. I trust I can rely on your team to do a thorough job, brother?”

“Yes, thank you Sherlock.”

A look passed between the brothers, an understanding. Though they wouldn’t actually say it out loud, Molly saw that it was a look of solidarity. They were in this together.

“Now I must dress for the day, so very much to do. The game, brother, is on!”

Sherlock left the room with a flourish of his dressing gown and he was up the stairs quickly, shouting for John as he went.

 

\-----(000)-----

 

When they reached the kitchen, Anthea was the only one still around. She paced back and forth between the island and the table. She had her phone to her ear and a frown marred her brow. Molly and Mycroft waited hand in hand for her to finish her call.

“Keep me updated, anything comes in, you call me.”

Taking the phone from her ear, she spun to face them.

“The plane tickets trace back only as far as a shell company, but we do have four more names from tickets purchased using the same credit card. We’re just trying to match faces from Heathrow to all the databases, unlike Feigler we don’t know any of the names the others flew in on, then perhaps we can link that to the faces Sherlock has indicated are heavily involved. We’re looking for any clues in the purchases on the card or through the shell company. So far we’ve not come up with much, but in the meantime we’re trying to get to the very start of the shell company. They’ve hidden themselves well Mycroft, I don’t know if even we can break the cover on it. Sherlock gave us some locations to investigate. I have teams dedicated to that right now. Trying to narrow the options down and see if we have any intel into any of them. If Sherlock thinks they are worth looking at, there must be something of note.”

Anthea fidgeted slightly on the spot. Clearly less than impressed by the update she had received over the phone. She looked to Mycroft for instructions.

“It’s more than we had last night. Any new information is positive. I need you to be the main contact today Anthea, you can decide what I need to know immediately and what can wait. I will be available should you deem it necessary. Each person’s task remains as we outlined last night and now our tasks call to us.”

He nodded to Anthea and she moved away, stepping to renew her coffee. Mycroft turned to Molly and pulled her in close, looking right into her eyes.

“I have to go to the office, as we discussed please stay in the house with Anthea. Do not leave unless it’s with one of our own, even then only with my knowledge. I know you don’t need me to reiterate, but please indulge me.”

Molly lifted her hands to brush her thumbs over his eyebrows, smoothing the lines that gathered there.

“Go, I’m not leaving the house. I might not even get dressed today who knows. I’ll help Anthea however I can and stay out of trouble.”

Raising his hand to brush his fingers across her cheek and tipping his head once in acknowledgement, Mycroft pressed a kiss to her forehead. He stepped back, steeled his shoulders and with one last look at Molly, he strode towards the front door. As he reached for the handle, Greg, John and Sherlock appeared at the top of the stairs. Mycroft turned to look at them.

“Sherlock, I shall have you collected from here at five, it will carry you to Hirsch location where I will be waiting. Gentlemen, be vigilant. A car has been placed at your disposal. We control the situations we find ourselves in as thoroughly as possible, minimise the opportunities to catch us unawares where we can.”

Solemn faces stared back at him with hard and determined eyes. No further words were needed, the dangerous looks that passed between them said it all. Mycroft strode from the house without a backwards glance.

Greg was the first to speak as they descended the stairs.

“Sherlock, John, we have a body to examine.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Greg glanced towards the kitchen. Anthea stood in the doorway, her back rigid and her face set. This was the Anthea the world should be afraid of, his warrior woman. There was a reason she was Mycroft’s right hand, and right now she demonstrated that core of iron that made her formidable. Molly would be safe here with her and she would coordinate them all in the most efficient manner possible. He saw the flash in her eyes as they stared at each other and it was matched by the look of desire that passed over his face only momentarily before his game face settled again. At an unspoken command they both spun around to return to the jobs at hand. Sherlock and John waited for him at the door, as he reached their sides, John opened the door and they moved down the steps as a synchronised unit to the waiting car.

 

\-----(000)-----  
... Molly listened to the door close, speaking only when Anthea stepped back into the room.

“A, has there been any news about James?”

“He made it through the night, he’s still not great Mol. The doctors say he’s not out of the woods yet. His body took a hell of a beating, we still don’t know how he’ll cope psychologically. We train as well as we can, but well you can’t really train for what he went through. We’ll have someone speak to him as soon as he is able to, see if he can tell us anything.”

“Just make sure he’s protected will you A? He’s a good man, he has a family.”

Molly wouldn’t meet Anthea’s gaze, she just stood at the counter fiddling with her hands. It hurt Anthea to see Molly seem so small and a little bit broken. She had been holding everything together for the sake of everyone else. She’d supported everyone else now she needed some for herself. Anthea hugged her friend tightly.

“How are you doing Mols? You don’t have to play it down for me, you’re being so strong. Holding it together for Mycroft and the others but you can tell me anything you need to get off your chest. Holding it in won’t help. We’ll get you through the fear and you’ll hit anger next. The anger will help.”

Molly hugged Anthea back just as tightly. While the men would try their hardest to shield Molly, not because they didn’t trust her or because they consciously thought she couldn’t handle it, it was their nature to protect. She would have to rely on Anthea to tell her what she needed to know, she would tell Molly as much as she could.

“I think I’m already at anger. Well, somewhere between the two. I’m so damn scared, but I’m not scared for me. I’m as safe right now, protected like I am, as I am ever likely to be in my life. I’m scared for the rest of you and angry that I can’t keep you safe. I don’t need you sugar coating it for me A, you tell me exactly what we are facing. You tell me what Mycroft won’t. What is he going to do with Sherlock tonight? I saw the look in his eyes, and I have my suspicions.”

Releasing Molly, Anthea pulled her towards the table pulling out a chair and pushing Molly to sit in it. She dragged another directly in front of Molly and sat with their knees brushing. Anthea leant forwards in her chair to look directly into Molly’s eyes.

“I don’t know exactly what they will do. I do know that to get information from Hirsch, he has authorised certain steps. He doesn’t have a choice in this, if there were another way I’d have suggested it but we don’t have the time. I can’t say more than that Molly, not specifics. But when he gets home(,) he’s going to need you. It won’t be easy for him and please don’t show any fear of him, he will never be a danger to you. What he has to do? It isn’t easy(,) Molly. Not for either of them. The stress of it will damage him, he doesn’t have the time to crash after that. Not right now. He’ll need you to put him back together. He won’t want the others to know, oh don’t worry, they’ll see it. But he won’t want them to see his vulnerability. Tell me you understand Molly?”

Molly’s eyes had dropped, her gaze resting on her hands. Anthea took hold of Molly’s shoulders, leaning close, pleading with her eyes. When she didn’t immediately answer, Anthea shook Molly just a little to get her to focus her attention back on her. Her eyes snapping into focus and meeting Anthea’s once more.

“Molly, tell me you understand?”

Anthea watched as resolve came across Molly, the hardening of her eyes and the setting of her shoulders.

“I understand. He’s safe with me, I’ll do and be whatever it is he needs. If anything, I’m afraid for him, never of him. Definitely never of him.”

Anthea smiled at Molly.  
“I know that Mols, I just had to make sure you knew it too.”


	10. Pain and pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deductions, sexy times and making plans. 
> 
> I suck at summaries, but there's action and smut and clues for the next chapters.
> 
> As always thanks for reading and big thanks to my Gumbie, beta extraordinaire and awesome friend!

Chapter 10 - Pain and Pleasure 

Mycroft stood in the dim room behind the two way glass, Hirsch hung limply, suspended by his wrists from the ceiling. He was being bombarded by flashes of light at blinding levels and tortuously loud music, designed specifically to unbalance the man. Mycroft took in the bruises blooming against his ribs and face, one of his eyes was swollen closed. From multiple slices in his skin, rivulets of blood ran steadily down his naked torso, soaking into the fabric of his trousers. Hirsch moved, fighting with vigour against the chains that held him aloft. His head flung back, his mouth wide and screaming, in anger or pain it didn't really matter. He had a certain amount of respect for someone who could withstand the beating he had taken and not crumble, but still he must be broken. Watching Hirsch struggle and shout, Mycroft was glad the room was soundproofed. His thrashing was distracting yet useful to them, the weaker he became, the more susceptible he would be for what Mycroft planned. He did not relish what must be done, but there was no option. Mycroft Holmes, as always, would do what was required of him. Captain Williams, head of interrogation team one, stood by his side and updated him on their progress so far. The man showed signs of fatigue and sported drops of dried blood against his skin, the fine cast off spray from fists connecting and breaking skin. Mycroft thought it was indeed for the best that the team wore black whilst working Hirsch. 

"So he has given us nothing? 

"No sir, he's holding fast. We've pushed him hard all night, the sound and light he's currently facing has been used periodically in between other persuasion techniques. He barely speaks, when he does, it’s not to provide answers to our questions. No responses to induced hypothermia overnight, walling damaged his body as he was thrown against the concrete, but it no effect with loosening his tongue. We've not had him long enough for threat and bargaining to work. Stress points again weaken only his body. He's started to vocalise pain and anger more so he is weakening, just not as quickly as we would like. We don't have time for our usual techniques to break him completely and make him cooperative."

Mycroft stared intently at Hirsch through the glass. Weighing his opponent, there was only so much a body could take before the mind started to weaken. While they had to expedite the process they had to be careful not to kill him before he could provide the information they needed. The line was a fine one to walk, he knew it could be done. Knew he could do it, he would have to lose himself in the process but it wouldn't be the first time. 

"Thank you, Captain. I don't need you to break him, that I will do myself. You have six hours to push him as close to the edge as possible before I take over. Allow him no rest, he gets no sustenance. You have authorisation to take whatever steps you require to get him to a state I can work with. We do not have the luxury of following the book on this one. There will be no repercussions for yourself or your team for whatever happens in this room. Do I make myself clear? You have been provided with the list of items I will require this evening?"

 

Mycroft turned slightly to ensure eye contact. Williams nodded.

 

"Whatever it takes, Captain." 

 

Without waiting for an unnecessary reply, Mycroft turned and left the room. His mind uneasy yet determined at the same time, he regretted that he would have to expose Sherlock to the scenes that the night would bring. He believed in his brother’s fortitude, but still he regretted that he needed to be involved. 

 

  
\-----(000)-----

 

 

John and Greg stood by the wall of the morgue, watching Sherlock work. They remained quiet, letting the detective do what he did best. He stalked around the body in a flurry of movement. Inspecting marks on the skin and seeing God knows what that would tell him exactly what happened. Sherlock had already looked at the clothes and items found on the body. There was only a small amount of information to be garnered from them due to the time the body had spent in the Thames, but Sherlock would still deduce something from them. He moved back and forth to a microscope on a bench to one side, quickly observing samples taken from the body. Sherlock was in his element. Several hours passed with Greg and John just waiting as Sherlock deduced everything he could. Greg had at one point removed himself from the morgue and returned with coffee for him and John. It was barely lukewarm in the paper cups, but it was more than welcome. The soldier in John showed itself in moments like this(,) when he stood guard for hours without complaint.

“John, help me turn the body.”

It wasn’t a question but without argument John pushed away from the wall and helped Sherlock manoeuvre the body to lie on its front. Apparently content with the new position, Sherlock removed his magnifying glass from his coat and continued his inspection.

“John, what do you see?”

“Blunt force trauma, sustained in one incident, all bruising appears at the same stage. Uneven lividity but he was in the water so no surprise there. There doesn’t appear to be a specific settle pattern, even if he was  
left for a couple of hours, then moved, there would be signs of the settled blood shifting. So I’d say he went straight into the water. The gun shot speaks for itself.”

"Thank you, John."

Sherlock immediately returned to his work and almost instantly he forgot the presence of anyone else in the room. Occasionally he lifted his phone from his pocket, typed away for a moment and then returned it to his pocket before returning his attention to the corpse. 

Greg had made sure they were alone in the city morgue. Still John stood guard, positioned himself closest to the door and maintained a vigilant stance, ready for any eventuality. Greg was relieved John carried his weapon. British detectives didn’t carry guns, yes Greg knew how to use them but they weren’t issued to Police other than the armed response units. Greg would have to have a word with Mycroft about him being armed until this situation was concluded. Mycroft could arrange the paperwork required for Greg to carry one when it was not work related. Hell, he could probably arrange for him to carry at work as well. He wasn’t pro gun exactly but he could see the benefits of it in this situation. Him not being armed should a situation arise, could mean the death of one of them, and that was not acceptable.   
Sherlock abruptly completed his analysis of the body of Itamar Feigler. The man, once notorious in certain circles, now looked like any other dead body. Death was one hell of an equaliser. Sherlock motioned to John and Greg impatiently. They moved to the table, John taking a position that still allowed him a complete view of the only possible entry point for any enemy. John and Greg looked to Sherlock for him to begin with his findings. 

“The team contains at least four other members, all trained soldiers. He was well accustomed to protecting himself as evident by the scarring and callus’ on his hands, yet he was subdued before being killed. The only ones likely to be able to subdue a man of his stature and training are others similarly trained. The callus’ are old and other than the most recent injuries, the scars he carries are all several years old. It is most probable he switched speciality from fighter to organiser. Most probably he was a specialist fixer, there are not that many options for someone with his skill set. However, his muscled physique shows he is still active and has not been working merely behind the scenes. He has kept himself prepared for active duty. Why at least four extra team members besides Hirsch and himself? There are two distinct sets of bruises around his biceps, two hands held each of his arms, so two people. He was held firmly enough to create deep marks, so two strong people. There is a footprint shaped haematoma at the back of his right calf. The shape and placement mean it cannot have been made by either of the men holding him in place. Someone stood behind him and dealt a swift, hard kick to the back of his leg to bring him to his knees. The grazing and damage to his knees speak to how hard he hit the ground before being dragged across a gravel and sand surface. There are traces of both in the wounds, also corroborated by the damage to his trousers. If the wounds weren’t caused at the time of death, most likely he would have had damaged knees but not trousers, there is also no sign of any healing of the wounds. Trapped between layers of his clothing and embedded in his skin is red sand, gravel, and what is most likely concrete debris and wood chips. The downward angle of the cuts and bruising to his upper torso, can only have him on his knees as he was beaten, the size and regular pattern to the beating suggest this was done by one person. Within each single strike there is an irregularity, most likely caused by a ring, cutting the flesh each time it connected. It is heavy with a large surface area depending on the nationality of the wearer a signet ring or a college ring, distinctive and easily recognised, it will identify the wearer as the killer once they are located. The beating did not last long and was only done by one person. It was not for information, but rather a demonstration of power from the one dealing the blows to others within the team. The timing of the death means we already had Hirsch in our possession. Likely his second in command dealt out the punishment. It is unlikely the person who brought him to his knees was the same man who beat him, rather someone acting on the instructions of the second in command. The support team taken care of by Mycroft’s people are presumably contractors supplied by this man. It would explain why they are so very different to this core group of conspirators, from the photographs we saw last night, they were not the same calibre of soldier, the inner group are highly trained specialists, the team in the support vehicle merely hired guns. He’s dead possibly because his failure to provide adequate support resulted in the plan failing, more likely because that failure resulted in capture of Hirsch. The bullet to the head, the gun was pressed directly to the forehead, there are burns around the entry wound. There are no signs of fibres in the wound, so the man was not hooded when he was killed. That the man is dead at all suggests he is not a permanent member of Hirsch’s team. It is likely he was brought in specifically for this job.” 

John and Greg looked at Sherlock, John’s gaze held signs of pride and amazement. Sherlock looked to John for only a moment before continuing. 

“A quick check of tide charts taking into account the fact that the body became entangled with the pier, and time of discovery means he can’t have been in the water long only a few hours at most . We are fortunate, had he not become entangled, chances are it would have been found for weeks. The water is cold, he wouldn’t have started to float for approximately two weeks. The debris found in the wounds point to a building yard or similar location for the execution taking place, that or a building site. I could be more specific if we had time to use Molly’s lab, however time constraints do not allow so these details will have to suffice. We are looking for either of those, close too, or on the river within a mile west of the location he was found. Greg, I trust you can discover the likely locations from the information I have supplied?”   
“I’ll call Anthea.”

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Greg walked to the doors whilst dialling the number.

“Hi Babe, Sherlock has done his thing. Basic rundown, we’re looking for four more mercs, we need to look for builders yards west of Festival Pier…”

Greg’s voice trailed off as he moved down the corridor and the doors closed behind him. Sherlock moved towards John.

“Brilliant as always, love. Come here.”

John opened his arms and Sherlock moved into his embrace, leaning down to rest his head on John’s shoulder. 

“Did I do good John?”

“You did good. Are you going to be ok going with Mycroft later? I know what you are going to do.”

“I have no choice, John. They come to our door with their misdeeds and we will not let it stand. A challenge to a Holmes cannot and will not go unanswered. We need the information he will provide, we must do what is necessary to ensure he provides it.” 

John pushed Sherlock back slightly, making him raise his head to meet his eyes. 

“You promise me Sherlock, if you need to, you walk away. You don’t stay because you think you have to. If it’s too much, you walk away and you call me. Do you understand, Sherlock?”  
Sherlock broke eye contact and looked at the floor. He wouldn’t speak but he nodded sharply once. It was enough for John to get any kind of response and he pulled Sherlock tight against him. They didn’t have long until Greg would be back to get them. Sherlock looked down into Johns face and a look of lust passed across his features. John shook his head but not before Sherlock had sealed their lips together, his tongue plundering John’s mouth. With a groan, John placed his hands against Sherlock’s chest, gently pushing Sherlock backwards breaking the kiss.

“Sherlock, I know you get excited by cases but no, you do know the body is still right over there?”

“Obviously John, but it’s all the way over there.”

John looked to the body and then back to Sherlock, brows pulled together, lips tightly pressed to a thin line.

“For God’s sake John, you’re a doctor! Fine, if I cover it up can we continue?”

“You do know it’s not normal to want to get your rocks off with a dead body in the room.”

Sherlock looked at John, then at the body, then back to John.

“John, it’s your body I want, I don’t see the problem. It just happens to be in the room.”

Sherlock gave up and stormed across the room, threw the white sheet over the corpse. John stood shaking his head as he watched the frustrated movements as Sherlock hurried around the room.

“Of course you don’t. Why would you? Sherlock, would you hurry up already?” 

He flew back to John, dropping to his knees before him and looking up with a mixture of heat and hope on his face. John dropped his hand to Sherlock’s head, wrapping his fingers in his curls he gently tugged at them. With a deep sigh and groan he buried his face in John’s groin, rubbing his cheek against the bulge hidden behind layers of cloth. With hurried hands he released John’s belt, not wasting time he grasped the cloth covering the strong thighs looked up and instructed.

“Breathe in and shimmy.”

“Really Sherlock? Just undo the button and fly.”

Not having any of it Sherlock tugged at the fabric again.

“Breathe in and shimmy, you’re wasting time.”

Doing as he was told, he helped work his trousers over his hips.

“You know if you want me to shimmy for you, all you have to do is bloody ask? Do I ever say no to you?”

Sherlock grinned devilishly, tipped his head slightly as soon as the trousers were at his knees, Sherlock grasped his hips, dragging his pants only low enough to allow his cock to spring free. Tilting his face to John, he leisurely snaked his tongue out and moistened his lips. He was playing dirty, he knew exactly what his lips did to John. With a lazy smile he pressed his now wet lips against his base and closing his eyes in bliss, he worked his way to the tip with open mouthed kisses and flicks of his tongue. John’s hand gripped his hair tighter and shuddered against him. 

“Fuck Sherlock.” 

Resting his chin against John’s cock, pressing it tight to his body, Sherlock used the underside of his tongue flicking the soft skin side to side over the sensitive head. He loved this, loved to kneel before the man who brought light to his life, to spread himself bare in his devotion. Before John could process the sensations he moved and engulfed him, swallowing his shaft root to tip. He backed off slowly, enjoying the sensation of John sliding along his palette. Pulling in his cheeks he bobbed his head slowly. With a pop he slid free, Sherlock wrapped a hand around his girth, gently twisting his hand as he leisurely stroked, varying the pressure. His every move designed to push John to his limits. Johns eyes were unfocused and his voice breathy. 

“Quick Sherlock, we haven’t got long, but oh God your mouth. Have you been reseaching again?”

Grinning devilishly and with a flash in his eyes, Sherlock flattened his tongue and slowly used it to cup the underside of John’s cock slowly licking at the sensitive skin. He slid his hand lower to gently stroke at John’s perineum, using his palm to tease his scrotum. Pressing his lips to the head and circling his tongue, he teased at the slit, every move making John’s knees shake. Stretching his jaw wide, he took John down into his throat, yawning to stave of his gag reflex. Then he swallowed, feeling his throat massage John’s impressive length.  
John didn't know what turned him on more. Whether it was what Sherlock did or that it was Sherlock who did it? As he looked down and saw those curls against his stomach as he was taken deep into Sherlock's throat, he realised it wasn't enough. He wanted Sherlock’s pleasure as well. He tugged at Sherlock's hair to make him look at him.

"Get up here and get your trousers undone right now." 

Sherlock rose from the floor in a fluid movement, his hands quickly freeing himself from his straining trousers. John raised a hand to Sherlock's mouth.

"Lick it, I want it nice and wet Sherlock." 

Sherlock pressed himself to John, catching their raging hard-ons between them. He rolled his hips with delicious results. He took Johns fingers into his mouth, laving them with his tongue. The stretch of his mouth and the promise of what he knew John planned, made his stomach clench in arousal and anticipation. John couldn't concentrate. Between Sherlock grinding his hips into his and the sensations of him sucking at his fingers, he was undone. 

"Christ, that’ll have to be enough." 

He pulled his hand from Sherlock's mouth and slid it between their bodies, wrapping them both in his slick hand. John groaned at the feel of them trapped together and Sherlock whimpered as he thrust into Johns hand. Sherlock swooped and sealed their lips together. Harsh and demanding he invaded John’s mouth, taking ownership with a swirl of his tongue, duelling for dominance. They both thrust into John’s fist over and over, climbing closer to explosive release. With stuttering hips, John surged against Sherlock, biting at the fabric of his suit jacket to try a stem the shout that threatened to break free. With one last surge he all but collapsed against Sherlock's chest, still he maintained his grip on them. With the image of John coming before him and with more lubrication, Sherlock slid against John’s sensitive length and crowding him back against the wall and cried out his own completion.

They stood, leaning into each other, breathing heavily. Sherlock kissed John slowly, a kiss filled with love. Lips soft and giving, there was no fighting for dominance now, just mutual sharing and joy.

"We're going to get caught one day, you know?" 

"Hmmm" 

Sherlock snuggled closer, wrapping his arms around John’s shoulders, holding him tight to him. 

"Don’t care."

John pulled his hand from between them. Grimacing slightly at the sticky mess, he looked around him for something to wipe his hand on, having to settle with a shrug for his under shirt, his jumper would cover it. Thankful for his shorter stature he reached around Sherlock to pull his trousers up before Greg returned, they had to be running out of time by now. As he drew the fabric upwards Sherlock shuffled his feet backwards just enough to help John, but he didn't move his head from his shoulder. With care he tucked him back inside his trousers and righted his clothing. 

"Would it kill you to re-dress yourself love?" 

"Possibly, why chance it when you do such a good job?" 

He couldn't help but smile. After sex, Sherlock became so docile and tactile, it was hard to believe he was the same person. John loved him like this, the feel of his breath against his neck as he nuzzled close, his eyes heavy and his smile languid. Pulling his own clothes back into place, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s narrow waist.  
That was how Greg found them moments later, as the door opened and he stepped back inside.

“For God’s sake you two, it’s the bloody morgue! Is this really the place?”

John felt Sherlock smile against his neck before he released his hold and stepped back to turn and face Greg. 

“Well this is where you left us Lestrade, where else are we going to be? I understand wandering off unannounced would cause concern?”

“Oh shut it Sherlock. Come on, we’ve got to head back to the house. Anthea needs us to stop at the office on the way and pick up some maps and stuff for us to go over.”

Lestrade turned and pushed back through the doors with a roll of his eyes. Before the doors shut behind him he shouted without looking over his shoulder.

“Would you two hurry it up already.”

John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pulled him towards the door.

“Come on love, there’s a whole lot of day left and we’re not nearly finished.”

He spun one last time and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. John looked him over once, took a deep breath and shook his head before walking through the door(,) pulling Sherlock behind him.

 

\-----(000)-----

 

Molly helped Anthea get settled at Mycroft’s desk. Anthea pulled out her laptop and logged into their secure network through the secure hardwire Mycroft had running throughout the house. Within moments(,) Anthea was lost in the work, a look on her face that Molly has seen on Mycroft’s during many a long night. Leaving her in peace, Molly wandered out of the study and stood in the hallway, torn between getting a cup of tea or going to get dressed. She looked down at her pyjamas just as the clock started to chime. She glared at the mocking grandfather clock as it chimed two in the afternoon. Fine, shower and getting ready it was then.  
Wrapped in Mycroft’s dressing gown, Molly sat at the dressing table in the bedroom. Her hair damp and curling loosely around her shoulders, she ran her fingers idly over the cufflinks that sat beside her earrings on the surface. Twisting and wrapping her hair on top of her head, she held it in place with a hair stick she pulled from the drawer. She loves to see her things next to his, even amongst everything that’s happening the feeling of warmth that spread through her made her smile. If she could sit here all day she’d be happy, she could pretend that everything on the other side of the bedroom door stood still. There was no fear and no danger, so long as she stayed where she was. Molly shook her head, there was no time to get lost in her mind. She had to keep busy and there was plenty for her to do. Having this many people in the house created enough jobs to keep her distracted.

Molly dressed quickly in jeans and t-shirt, walking round the room, she collected the clothes that they had strewn across the room as they made their way to bed the previous night. She threw everything into a pile on the blanket box, ready to be sorted for what she could wash and what had to go to the dry cleaners. Basically a pile of his and hers, she’d have to check with Mrs Heatheridge to see where she usually sent his suits. Molly stopped, her hand flying to her throat. How could she have forgotten? Oh God, what about the housekeeper? She didn’t know her well, had only met her on a few occasions as she was usually at the house when Molly and Mycroft were at work. She’d left lovely notes for Molly, full of kind words and left little gifts for them, from cake to flowers in the hall for Molly. She was kind and Molly had forgotten her. She fumbled for her phone her hands unsteady as she instinctively called Mycroft. It barely rang before he answered, but she cut off his greeting.

“Mrs Heatheridge!” 

“Is safe my darling. Mrs Heatheridge and Mrs Hudson are currently enjoying what I am assured is a lovely holiday well out of harm’s way.”

Molly collapsed to sit on the bed but missed and slid down the side of the mattress to end up sitting on the floor.

“I can’t believe I forgot about her My, I feel terrible. You always remember everything, how do you do it?”

“Practice my dear, lots of practice.”

“Thank you for being you, Mycroft. Thank you for remembering the things I forget. I’ll leave you to your work seeing as you have everything under control."

"You can call me anytime Molly, speaking to you brightens my day no matter how bad it has been."

"It's going to be another late night, isn't it?” 

Mycroft spoke softly with regret in his voice.

"I fear so."

Molly worried about the tone of his voice. Her brows furrowed.

"If you need me, you call. I don't know the details of what you have to do tonight but I have an idea. I'm not going to ask for them. But if you need me, you call. Don't hesitate, I don't care what time it is."

"I always need you, Molly."

"Then make sure you listen to me. I'm here, always. Now I’ll leave you to work but don't forget what I said Mycroft." 

"Never. I'm not going to be able to make it back to the house before tonight. When Sherlock returns, can you please tell him the plan remains the same? A car will collect him at five and bring him to me."

"Of course. Speak to you later, ok?"

"Yes, Dearest." 

Molly smiled.

"Don't you sass me, Mr Holmes! Now be off with you."

The effect was ruined by the humour she was unable to keep out of her voice. They ended the call with words of love. Molly stayed on the floor a while longer. She pulled one of Mycroft's shirts from the pile on the blanket box and just held it to her face, breathing his scent until it started to calm her. She really needed to speak to Anthea, just to allay some of her fears about Mycroft's state when he returned home. She needed to know what she faced and Anthea would tell her what she could.   
Molly was still in the bedroom when she heard Sherlock, John and Greg rerun in a flurry of noise. She couldn’t hear what they were talking about but she could hear Sherlock’s voice louder than the others as he made some point or other. She decided it was time to end her self-imposed exile, she could also find out what they had uncovered while they were away from the house.   
Molly stuffed the still unsorted washing in the washing basket and hefted it to her hip. Doing one last sweep of the room, knowing at least one sock would have escaped, she walked out onto the landing and looked over the banister to the hall below. They were spaced throughout the hallway, John and Greg with boxes containing more papers to look over and what looked like rolled up maps.

“Oi! You three, why are you shouting and causing chaos in my house? Actually no, it doesn’t matter. Inside voices please, you’re giving me a headache. Sherlock, Mycroft won’t be making it back for lunch but the car will still pick you up at five. Now I’m making sandwiches, you can have them while you deal with whatever is in those boxes.”

Sherlock looked like he was about to argue, or at least be difficult so John moved towards him and nudged him with the box in his arms.

“Nope, keep moving. Don’t argue. We’ve got things to do before you have to go.”

Molly watched John herd Sherlock towards the kitchen. Sherlock kept trying to turn round and speak, but John just nudged him again and again, not letting him stop walking. Shaking her head, Molly walked down the stairs and followed them to the kitchen.


	11. We do what we must.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please take this as a warning, this is not a fluffy chapter. It is dark and angry and not for those easily shocked. It was difficult to write and I think if you read you will understand. There were hints that this was coming but I'm not sure even I expected the results.
> 
> A huge thank you goes out to MyCitrusPocket for her unwavering support with what became an emotionally compromised writer. Couldn't have done it without you Gumbie xxx
> 
> Any faults that remain are mine .

Mycroft was back behind the mirrored glass, Captain Williams again by his side. They watched as three members of the interrogation team continued to work Hirsch over. He looked very different now, gone was the defiant body that had greeted him this morning, in its place now hung a broken man. At least his body was broken the state of his mind had yet to be fully determined. Captain Williams and his team had done a sterling job. He was still suspended from the ceiling, this time from arms restrained behind him. Palestinian hanging mused Mycroft, an archaic practice but effective none the less. The bruising across his body was more extensive and now both of his eyes were swollen shut. Small burns marred his chest and back.

“That will be enough for now Captain, I do believe our guest will require a little time to compose himself before our evening plans. Have them cut his eyes, I need him to be able to see. Also have them bind him to a chair, knees to chest. No need for him to be comfortable after all.”

Mycroft left the room, knowing his instructions would be followed. He rode the lift to ground level and continued higher into the building to one of the offices he kept in the city. Not his primary office but he had enough here to keep him busy until Sherlock was delivered to the door. He settled behind his desk switching on the laptop before him, he pulled up the surveillance feed to watch Hirsch. Pyramiding his fingers in front of his mouth he waited, finalising his plan.

\-----(000)-----

 

At six, Sherlock stepped out of the car onto the footpath in front of a seven story building. The door opened and Sherlock was surprised to see Mycroft himself on the other side.

“Have you been demoted brother? Just can’t find the staff?”

“Come along, Sherlock.”

Mycroft held the door as he watched his brother walk towards him. He saw the same look on his face that he had seen the day he had left him behind to attend university. He greatly regretted being the cause for its return now. Especially when for the first time in a great many years he was happy and clean. As he shut the door behind Sherlock, he placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I am sorry brother, but you are needed for this distasteful business.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me, Mycroft. I have enough problems with John.”

Despite his words, Sherlock didn’t shake off Mycroft’s hand. He didn’t pull away either, they just stood for a moment. Both understanding what the other was saying; I need you, I’m here.

“Let us begin then. Sherlock, if you would follow me.”

 

\-----(000)-----

 

Sherlock watched Mycroft change. Not his clothes, he wore his battle armour: Charcoal pinstripe three piece suit, crisp white shirt and red tie . He had shucked the jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but it was his personality he watched change. The brother he knew faded and was replaced by a cold eyed stranger. Sherlock was both, slightly unnerved and impressed. He watched everyone and everything, he saw the dried blood that made Hirsch look like he cried blood, swollen eyes cut to release the blood and reduce the swelling . Burns to his torso, caused by either chemical means or cigarettes, more likely the latter but from this distance it was difficult to tell. Bruises on his chest suggested at least three cracked,if not broken ribs. His shoulders had been under strain for a significant amount of time, it would not take much pressure to dislocate a joint should it become necessary. At the back of the grey concrete, windowless room was a table with straps at equal intervals along its length. It looked to be mounted to a pivot assembly of some kind. Sherlock was intrigued, he wasn’t used to being able to conduct experiments on live persons. Yes an experiment, that is how he categorised what he was about to do, he stood there with a certain mix of trepidation and excitement. Both he and his brother, held a darkness, a temperament that both tried to control, but the potential for such cold and consuming rage existed within them. A measure of which would be released within that room. Mycroft’s voice was deeper than usual as he addressed the Captain.

“Hang him up. Straight suspension, we need to see his face, eventually. Having him bent over will not serve our purpose. Have your men put a hood on him and then leave the room, the cameras will be disconnected and we shall take over. Thank you for your work Captain Williams, it has been exemplary as usual. Once we are done here, I believe you are due a fortnights leave.”

“Thank you Sir, we’ll have him ready for you momentarily.”

Mycroft did not take his eyes from the interrogation room, staring blankly ahead until they were alone.

“The usual questions Sherlock, I do hate to be predictable but I want as much information out of our friend in there as possible. Standard questions with a little incentive to cooperate.”

Hirsch was now hooded and alone in the room. He hadn’t fought the change in position, hadn’t acknowledged anything. It was unclear if the man was conscious or not. Together the brothers walked from the observation room. With a quick look between them, Mycroft opened the door and stepped inside, followed closely by Sherlock.

\-----(000)-----

Mycroft picked a bucket from the floor and threw its contents at Hirsch. Cold water drenched him, shocking him to consciousness, he came to coughing and groaning with the pain that radiated through his chest. Casually returning the bucket to its original position, Mycroft slowly walked around Hirsch. Sherlock moved to the corner of the room and watched and waited.

“Good evening, Mr Hirsch. I do not believe you know me, but rest assured I know you. You are going to provide the answers to my questions. Shhh now, don’t waste your energy, you are most assuredly going to need it.”

Mycroft stopped, facing the subject of his enquiry, who fought against the bonds weakly. His shoulders straight and determined, he clasped his hands at the base of his spine and paused. Sherlock watched Hirsch turning his head trying to work out where Mycroft was within the room. Mycroft let the man wait. He silently moved to Hirsch’s back, leaning forward to speak evenly in his ear.

“Who hired you? What is your goal? Who is your target? What is your mission?”

Hirsch voice was strained and he choked, trying to clear his throat.

“Fuck… you!”

“Now, now Mr Hirsch. The questions are simple ones and we shall not be leaving until you answer them. We are persistent men, Mr Hirsch and you have our full attention. What. Is. Your. Mission?”

“Fuck. You.”

Mycroft’s lips thinned and he tilted his head to one side in pique. Rolling his shoulders and flexing his fingers, he dealt three quick open palmed blows to Hirsch’s midsection. The man contorted, his breath hissing from behind the hood but he did not answer.

“What is your goal?”

No response. Mycroft repeated the open handed slaps again. This time he didn’t stop after three, he kept going. The blows spaced evenly, the rhythm with which he delivered them didn’t allow Hirsch to breathe. The pain combined with the contraction of his diaphragm with each hit meant he could not draw breath. He was choking and he could do nothing about it. Suddenly Mycroft stopped. The only sound in the room was Hirsch heaving, fighting to pull in air. Mycroft repeated his questions.

“Who hired you? What is your goal? Who is your target? What is your mission?”

Still he didn’t speak. Mycroft did not respond immediately. He surveyed the body of the man who defied him, evaluating and deducing the most effective ways to get the information he wanted. He balled his fists and laid punches to Hirsch’s torso. Landing the blows on top of already deep purple bruises, directly above the ribs Sherlock had suspected to be at least bruised. Each shot calculated and perfectly weighted to create only enough pain to get the man to speak, not to break the ribs which could puncture lungs and end their questioning. Sherlock blanched, trying not to turn his face away.

“What is your target?”

This time he shouted with the hits, his body trying to hunch around the pain and protect itself, but the chains that held him made it impossible. His head sagged as he tried to work through the agony, his chest unable to expand or contract without extreme pain, he was struggling to get air into his lungs. Sherlock watched his brother, watched him going through the same processes of deduction that Sherlock himself did during a case. Finding a weakness and exploiting it, the ability to locate what would break a person or at least get them closer to that goal.

“Again, Mr Hirsch? Are you so enamoured by pain that you wish this to continue? Answer my question! What is your Mission? Why follow the woman? To what end did you follow her?”

Mycroft kept up the steady flow of questions. Bombarding the detainee, overload the system with pain and questions. Make him give you what you want. He walked to the wall and pressed a button, a hoist began pulling Hirsch slowly higher, taking him to the point where his toes barely brushed the floor, adding extra strain to his already over exerted arms.

“You have done well Mr Hirsch, you have done yourself proud, but now is the time to save yourself. Answer my questions and this will all be over. Simple questions and everything stops. I get my answers, you get medical attention and an end to your ordeal. Who hired you?”

Mycroft waited. His face showing he clearly did not expect Hirsch to give up. Mycroft’s eyes unnerved him, his eyes were dead. Sherlock watched him close them and take in a deep breath, his hands twitched, switching between stretched fingers splayed wide and clenched fists. Mycroft’s head jerked and he walked behind Hirsch, Sherlock couldn’t see exactly what he was doing but he heard fists connecting with flesh. Five kidney blows, fast and hard he surmised. So strong were they that Hirsch was thrust forward on rattling chains, his shoulders straining, his muscles pulled tight. He was on his toes, rocking, held up Sherlock was sure, only because he had no choice. Mycroft came back into Sherlock’s view. His hair was dishevelled, his breathing uneven. He massaged his knuckles absently. Mycroft wouldn’t meet his eyes, he was focusing on trying to calm himself. Sherlock knew he was angry, had known since the first phone call that his anger pushed him towards a dangerous place. But this was the first time he had truly seen it this close to the surface. He could see the strength it was taking his brother to reign in the legacy that was the Holmes anger. He watched him breathe deeply, slowing his breathing gradually until it returned to some semblance of normal.

“I see you aren’t quite willing to cooperate, you leave me no choice.”

He raised his hand to the hood and looked to Sherlock, one eyebrow raised in question. Sherlock nodded, remove the hood, lets see what we can read in his face. Mycroft pulled the hood roughly from his head. Taking a handful of hair, he roughly pulled Hirsch’s head up, forcing him to look at him. Pain clouded the eyes that looked back, his hand still in his hair he shook Hirsch’s head violently. Whipping it back and forth, drawing the man’s focus to him rather than the pain that wracked his body. Both brothers watched as a look of recognition and fear showed on his battered face.

“I do believe he knows your face brother. Though the fear he is incapable of hiding, suggests he did not know who you were, when he saw it. He definitely didn’t know that you were behind his current situation. Someone was naughty, providing partial information. He trusted them, and they sent him into the breach. They crippled him with woefully inadequate information and he didn’t search for more. Wait, no he did search for more but you are well hidden brother, he has no idea what you can do to him.”

“I concur. Though his knowing does not change the fact that he will tell us what we want to know. I am a very dangerous man Mr Hirsch, you have been warned. What is your mission?”

Mycroft punctuated his sentence by ramming his fist into Hirsch’s face, his nose exploded in a waterfall of fresh blood. Still he bombarded him with questions, repeating them in a mantra over and over as he continued to punish the man. Sherlock lost track of time, there were no answers, just Mycroft’s questions running through his head. The litany alone was enough to have him wanting to answer and make his brother stop. The sounds in the room were making him queasy. He was slumped in a chair in the corner, unable to watch as flesh surrendered under the onslaught and blood trickled from tears the skin. Sherlock had not expected this. Had not expected to be quite so affected, it wasn’t the physical damage being done, that he had expected. He hadn’t truly understood the effect of the combination of physical and mental stress. John had. John had warned him, John had known. Why? Afghanistan? He was a doctor, had he seen the results of moments like this? Sherlock had to control himself, if he could not, he could be no help at all and would only weaken Mycroft’s position. He had to remember, he was here to help Mycroft. He began to pull himself together, forcing himself to be stronger to make his brother proud of him.

“Who hired you? What is your goal? Who is your target? What is your mission?”

“Fuck you and that little bitch!”

That was the tipping point for Mycroft, with a balled fist he smashed his hand into the side of Hirsch’s head at his temple. The recoil snapped his neck sideways and that was more than enough to render the man unconscious. Sherlock became aware that the situation was balanced on a knife edge. These were two thus far well matched men, both trained as much as could possibly be expected for what was currently happening.

“Careful brother, don’t break him too quickly. We still need him to answer questions.”

Mycroft touched a button on the wall once more, a quick release. Then looked to the two-way mirror, his chin tilted towards his chest looking up under his brows, he indicated that he wanted whoever waited on the other side to enter the room. Hirsch hit the floor with a sickening thud, his body completely limp in his unconsciousness. The only attention Mycroft paid to the heap of a man was to land a swift kick to his midsection. The man was unconscious; the blow served no purpose with regards to the gathering of information. The kick was a sign that Mycroft was extremely affected by what was going on inside this concrete bunker of a room. The door opened and Captain Williams stood awaiting instructions, he wouldn’t look directly at Mycroft. Perhaps the transition from government desk jockey gent to ruthless interrogator was more than he could process. Or perhaps he knew the look in his eyes. The barely contained animalistic rage that burned brightly, don’t look the enraged creature in the eyes, submissive and none threatening, give him no reason to turn that anger on you. 

“Strap him to the table, I want the bands as tight as you can get them. Strap him down, then leave him. We will continue after a brief sojourn.”

Mycroft strode from the room. The Captain looked from Mycroft’s retreating back to the lump of a person on the floor. When Sherlock began to move the Captain started slightly as though he had forgotten his very existence. This man was a leader of an interrogation team, even so what he had seen of Mycroft had surprised him. Sherlock left the room as two more members of the team came in to manhandle Hirsch to where Mycroft demanded. Lifting his phone from his pocket, Sherlock was surprised to find that several hours had passed, several brutal hours but still they had no answers.

He found his brother approximately thirty feet down the corridor. Sitting on the floor with his knees bent with his arms draped across them, staring blankly at the grey wall opposite. As Sherlock approached he twisted his head to watch him approach.

“Brother, if you need to leave, you leave. It is only going to get worse from here. You will have surmised what comes next, this is the last physical persuasive technique we can try after that our options are limited. ”

“Yes, I know what’s coming, I stay.”

“Thank you.”

Mycroft sat looking at his hands. They were covered in blood, both wet and dry. The long elegant fingers trembled slightly, whether that was because of the exertion or the rush of adrenaline in his system was unclear. His suit fared no better, he was filthy coated in grime and blood. He saw it all for the first time as he sat in the corridor trying to calm himself, it was no wonder the Captain had refused to look at him. They worked in a controlled non emotional manner, Mycroft was very much emotionally compromised and it had shown itself in his brutality. Mycroft pushed himself off the floor, distractedly glancing at Sherlock as he walked further away down the corridor.

“I need to make a phone call.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just disappeared into another side room. Slightly at a loss, Sherlock moved back to the observation room to wait for act two. In the darkened room he found bottles of water and taking one, he sat down to watch Hirsch through the glass.

\-----(000)-----

Molly was in the kitchen when her phone rang, sitting at the table she answered it after the third ring.

“Hi, My.”

She could hear heavy, irregular breathing down the line. It was a moment before he spoke, his voice husky and breaking slightly.

“Just speak to me Molly. Please? I need to hear your voice.”

She could hear his anguish, he sounded so lost and pained, her heart ached for him. For now, with him far away, if the only thing she could do for him was talk, then so be it. So she spoke words full of emotion, she spoke from her heart with words she needed him to hear, over and over again as she tried to soothe him.

“Mycroft Holmes, I love you. You are the man I can’t imagine my days without, the other half of my soul, part I hadn’t realised was missing until I met you. I need you and I want you, always. You make me feel safe, and loved: so very loved. I never feel safer than when I am in your arms, when it’s just me and you warm in our bed, wrapped together: and I’m never happier than when I get to hold you in mine. I want to grow old with you. I want it all, but only with you My. Do you understand? I am proud of you and will always stand by your side, no matter what. You are the bravest man I know, you protect us all even when the cost to you is great. Do what you need to do My, then come home to me. Know that I will always be waiting.

She could hear his breathing calming as she talked. She spoke words that required no answer from him but words he needed to hear. When he spoke again he sounded stronger and more like himself.

“Thank you, Molly. I have to go. I love you.”

“And I you.”

Mycroft hung up. Anthea had warned Molly that this would be damaging to Mycroft but being told and hearing his voice and the effects the questioning of Hirsch were having, were very different. Molly rubbed at her chest, the pain she felt for Mycroft so very real. She was scared for him, scared of the damage he was doing to himself in the quest for information. Molly twisted in her seat to stare through the glass wall at the back of the kitchen, she stared through the reflected image of the kitchen into the darkness, lost in her thoughts.

\-----(000)-----

Anthea stood in the shadows of the hallway biting her lip. She had heard the end of Molly’s phone call and was torn between allowing Molly space and going to her friend to comfort her. She felt somewhat guilty for listening to the conversation, but while Molly looked after all of them, she also needed someone to watch for the things she hid. She would try to be strong and bury as much as she could so she didn’t burden anyone, Anthea would make sure she didn’t hurt herself in doing so. Hearing Molly speak the words Mycroft needed to hear so very much, warmed her heart. Mycroft was family, there was only so much you could go through together before you formed a strong bond. In the time Anthea had known him she had seen the loneliness that plagued him grow. Then Molly appeared, a bright and shining light in his dark world, she became his anchor holding him fast. She held him together and right now he needed that more than ever. Anthea stayed a moment longer, watching Molly, she seemed so small and fragile, such a quiet and gentle soul shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. Anthea knew however, that Molly was made of stern stuff, for all of her caring she had a spine of steel and she would not bend easily. This whole situation was so far outside of what Molly knew, the first look into the darker side of what Mycroft had to deal with. Granted this situation was unique, but not everything could be arranged from behind a desk. Quietly she stepped away from the kitchen, leaving Molly to her thoughts. On silent feet she walked back to the study where Greg and John waited, anxious to be close to Greg’s comforting presence. She needed to be in contact with him, to reassure her that they would fix this. When she reached the back of the sofa Greg reached his arm over his head and the back of the sofa towards her. She placed her hand in his and let him pull her around the sofa and tug her into his lap, she tucked in tightly settling her head against him. At the tension he felt in her body, he looked into her eyes frowning slightly. Anthea smiled at him, it didn’t quite reach her eyes but it reassured Greg enough to appease him for now. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and she relaxed against his body. With Greg and Anthea holding on to each other and John staring into the fire, they settled into the agonising wait.

 

\-----(000)-----

 

Sherlock watched as a different Mycroft walked back into the interrogation room, entering just as the team finished strapping a still unconscious Hirsch to the table. They had not been gentle with the man, they had picked him up like a sack of potatoes, manhandling his dead weight onto the table and arranging him as they required. Sherlock watched as they pulled the straps tight, bindings ran down Hirsch’s body from shoulders to feet. From the way the fabric straps dug into the skin, Sherlock could tell there would be no room for movement, he would be completely at the mercy of Mycroft.

The change in Mycroft was dramatic, a lot of the tension had drained from his face and body. His eyes held humanity again, gone was some of the coldness that had unnerved Sherlock. There was only one person Mycroft could have spoken to that could have brought him some way towards normality. His thoughts of Molly helped him to remember, the threat to their family was the reason they had to continue. Hirsch was not going to volunteer to answer their questions but they needed the information he had. Sherlock would follow Mycroft’s lead, he had to. Nothing had been as he had expected, it was much worse. He had thought he was prepared, thought he knew, he had been very wrong.

He watched Mycroft speak to the Captain before glancing towards the room where Sherlock stood watching. He raised an eyebrow in question, tilting his head bidding him to join him. Mycroft returned his attention to the team and spoke to them once more, nodding and dismissing them after they checked the restraints one last time. Sherlock stood in the corridor and waited until he was able to enter the room.  
Mycroft stood by Hirsch’s head, smacking his palm against the restrained man’s face to rouse him. Hirsch came to quickly, fighting against the restrains in panic.

“Sherlock, please retrieve the small towel from the table behind you. Wet it in the bucket of water and bring it here along with three bottles of the water.”

He returned his attention to Hirsch who had stopped fighting but the constriction of the straps meant his breathing was irregular, the compression stopping him from drawing deep breaths.

“You are not a stupid man Mr Hirsch. I am certain you know what is about to happen. I am a benevolent man Arno, I am willing to give you one last opportunity to answer my questions. Speak now and this goes no further, you answer my questions and we stop this. If you do not? Then you leave me no choice but to continue. It is that simple.”

Sherlock wished he would just answer their questions. What could he possibly hope to gain by remaining silent? He was a mercenary, his only loyalty to the money. What could make him stay quiet? The Puzzle intrigued him, they were missing something big. If only the man would speak but he remained stubbornly silent. Mycroft sighed, reaching to tilt the table so that Hirsch’s head was lower than his feet. Again he fought, but there was so little room for movement, there was no chance of him freeing himself.

“So be it, Mr Hirsch. Sherlock, place the towel over his face and hand me one of the bottles if you please.”

Sherlock moved closer to the table, observing panicked eyes as he covered the man’s face. Once he has the cloth in place, he looked up to find his brother observing him with serious eyes. He nodded at the silent question and held out the bottle in his hand. 

“Let us start again then, shall we. Who hired you?”

With no forthcoming answer Mycroft held the bottle approximately thirty centimetres above the covered face and began to pour the water in a steady stream. Hirsch immediately began to gasp and cough, horrible choking sounds emerged from his throat. Sherlock watched as the wet cloth was pulled into the gaping mouth with each breath he tried to take. The sucking sounds as the wet cloth sealed itself to his lips was sickening, they were the sounds of a man drowning, suffocating before him. His body fought his survival instincts taking over, all conscious thoughts gone all that remained was the primal urge to live With the steady flow the bottle was soon empty but it seemed an age had passed for Sherlock. Seeing the man attempting to contort his body, trying to breathe was both horrific and fascinating. To push a body to this point, to wield that power over another being it fed the very darkest parts of a person. Sherlock stumbled backwards involuntarily, shocked by the confused feelings. He had known Mycroft had been pushed to breaking point, he had not realised just how close to the darkness he had also been taken.

Mycroft pulled the cloth away from Hirsch’s face. The man almost sobbed in relief, eyes closed tightly, there was only the sound of ragged breaths filling the room. With a broken voice he tried to speak.

“I. Don’t know.”

Mycroft returned his attention to the prone man.

“What don’t you know?”

There was a long pause as Hirsch appeared to try and muster the strength to speak.

“Who. Employed.”

Mycroft scoffed in disgust. 

“You expect me to believe that a man such as yourself, a leader, a man with your history, took a job from an unknown party?”

“Truth”

“See the truth is a strange thing, there are degrees of truth and I don’t believe you are telling the whole truth, are you Arno? Perhaps we should help you remember? Return the cloth brother. Let us see if things become clearer in his mind if we give him a little more time to think.”

As the soaking cloth was placed back over his face, he made pained noises and tried to shout. Thrashing his head from side to side, trying to avoid the fabric. Blood began to well along the straps, his fighting having served only to cut his flesh along the edges of the nylon. The fresh blood ran towards his face due to the angle of the table. Sherlock stared with morbid fascination, the patterns created against his skin were hypnotic. The worst cut lay along the edge of the last strap over his chest. His weight pushed harder against this strap than the others and it was sinking deeper into the flesh that bulged around it only worsened by his attempts at movement.

Sherlock passed Mycroft another bottle, observing his brother closely. While this was brutal, it showed signs that it might actually be the thing to break Hirsch; however it also held the danger of also breaking the brothers as well. Mycroft left the cloth in place but indicated Sherlock was to follow him out of the room. Once they were in the corridor, Mycroft turned to him.

“We do this twice more, can you do that Sherlock?”

“If you can brother, why would I be unable to?”

It was false bravado and he knew that Mycroft could see right through him. He fidgeted under Mycroft’s intense gaze, having to look away. Mycroft placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him with a touch.

“If I could have spared you this, Sherlock.”

“Do shut up, Mycroft. We have not yet completed our task. It seems a waste to not get our answers when the man lies completely at our mercy on the other side of that door.”

They shared a look, determination flashing on their faces. This would not be for nothing. They willingly sacrificed themselves for the wellbeing of their family, it was their safety that mattered. Wearing twin looks of purpose, they strode back into the room with renewed vigour. Sherlock snatched up the water bottle and uncapped it, he held it in place above Hirsch’s face and looked to Mycroft, urging him to speak. Sherlock would take an active role this time, shouldering his part of this burden. Mycroft lowered his voice.

“What is your mission?”

Hirsch startled by the sudden intrusion of sound, jumped then hissed as the bonds dug deep into his abused flesh. There was a moment’s silence, his voice hoarse he began to speak.

“Follow the girl, find you. Didn’t know who you were, still don’t.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know.”

“You think partial truths will save you? Do you think that I am a man who will walk away mollified by snatches of information Arno? Do you take me for a fool?”

At Mycroft’s nod in to him, Sherlock began to pour from the bottle, a trickle of water hitting the cloth causing the restrained man to panic. Mycroft stopped halted Sherlock a light tough to his arm. 

“It is very simple you tell me everything you know and it stops. How many people in your team?”

“Seven, there are seven.”

“Good Arno. Names, give me names.”

He shook his head, side to side thrashing against the hard unyielding surface. Sherlock passed the bottle to Mycroft’s hand and moved around the top of the table, grasping either side of Hirsch’s head to keep it in place. Mycroft poured a steady stream of water again over his face, cutting his air supply. With Sherlock holding him still, there was nowhere for him to go. The coughing and gasping were worse this time, his throat already so abused the noises emanating from it were harsh and ugly. When he began to gurgle, Mycroft snatched the cloth away and tilted the table quickly, they wanted the man to speak not die, at least not before he gave them what they needed. Water poured from his mouth. He sagged, coughing as much as damaged ribs and the compression of his chest would allow. He tried to speak, his eyes red and wild.

“Ppatrick. Tiernan. Andrew Cooper. Callum Gherity. Itamar Feigler. John Marlow.”

A look of triumph passed over Mycroft’s face.

“You’re missing one Arno, who are you hiding?”

“Doctor”

“When you tell me what I want to know, then you can have a doctor.”

“No, doctor, sent by client. Karl Williams, scientist. Supposed meet him at house.”

“Why? What house?”

Hirsch shook his head again. Mycroft quickly returned the table so that his head was again below the level of his feet, he replaced the cloth, trying to tune out the high pitched wail that emanated from below it. He took another full bottle of water as well as the one half used. There was no small trickle of water this time. The water was poured fast and heavy, it splashed against the cloth over Hirsch’s face flooding over the table and spilling to the floor. Sherlock could see it mingling with the blood that already coated the floor, creating a crimson river that made its way to the drain in the centre of the room. With no respite and the increased pressure on the cloth, the liquid pouring into his mouth and his nose the panic became too much and the man strapped to the table overloaded. As soon as the deluge ceased, he broke down, heaving sobs and agonised wails.

“What house? What is your mission?”

“No No No No”

He was starting to scream his mind breaking. Mycroft snatched the cloth from his face and loomed over him.

“What house? What is your mission?”

Hirsch continued to cry, broken, no longer listening. It wasn’t enough information. The names were hugely important, assuming they were real, but given the state of the man Mycroft believed them to be correct.

“What were your instructions? What were you supposed to do?”

Hirsch didn’t hear them, he was too far gone. Mycroft lashed out in frustration, a hard slap to the face trying to get the man to focus. From stone walling to a completely useless mess, they didn’t have time for this. They had pushed as hard as was required, there was always a chance that this would happen, that he would become hysterical before giving answers. Mycroft looked past Sherlock to the observation room and nodded, just the once before returning his attention to Sherlock.

“We are nearly finished here Sherlock, just one more method to try. SP-117, a gift from our Russian friends, a truth serum.”

Mycroft laughed bitterly before continuing.

“It can have somewhat unpredictable results, he won’t remember our conversation after. However, he should answer our questions but at the same time it could kill him if we are not careful.”

“If he will answer our questions, why did we not use it before?”

“Because of the very fact that it is unpredictable, yes he’ll speak but he may not make complete sense. The things he tells us may be a combination of fantasy and truth. It will be up to us to make the distinction. We will not have long to question him before it incapacitates him completely, so we will have to act swiftly. The state he is in now, I doubt he can be of any further use to us, this is the time to use the last thing we have given the time frame available to us. The names are a start but he has more information to share, we just have to get him to divulge it. So we try SP-117. ”

Mycroft sounded detached and hollow. From absolute anger to nothing, for his sake this had to be over soon. Sherlock had not known quite how to proceed with the physical aspect of the evening’s activities, but questioning? Now that he could do he could do. He could sort through the information, determine what was pertinent and what could be discarded. Solving the puzzle was what Sherlock did best and if, as Mycroft stated, Hirsch’s answers under the influence were confused, he relished the thought of making his way through his words to the truth beneath the diatribe. While Sherlock was lost in his head, Captain Williams had entered the room and stood looking to Mycroft for his instructions.

“Captain Williams, as we discussed. Mild sedative then dose him, we give it ten minutes and we can begin.”


	12. The Rise and Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are back with the Holmes brothers as they continue their odious task of interrogating Hirsch, this time they employ a gift from Mycroft's Russian friends. The family wait for their return to the fold with emotions running high, but they stand together as a united front. Sherlock and Mycroft return to the house, they are damaged and need caring for.
> 
> Please note there may be triggers here for self harming. 
> 
> A huge thank you, to MyCitrusPocket, Super beta, translator and all round genius. 
> 
> Please note translations of the long German sections can be found in the end notes. 
> 
> Thank you so much for staying with me so far and I hope you stick with me for the rest of the journey.

They sat together at the table in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. None of them actually ate, just moved the food around their plates. Molly looked at the time on her phone as she fidgeted in place. It had been hours since she had spoken to Mycroft and the worry she felt grew with each passing moment. She wanted this to be over, she wanted their lives back! She had tried to keep busy after she had spoken to Mycroft, the kitchen sparkled and there were copious amounts of food on every surface. There was bread dough proving in bowls, cakes cooling on racks and stew bubbling away in a large pot in the oven as well as the dinner they currently pretended to eat. She had taken out her frustration angrily chopping vegetables or beating dough into submission, anything to try and rid herself of the nervous energy that filled her.

Giving up the charade, she stood and picking up her plate, moved to put it in the sink. She placed her hands palms down against the counter and bowed her head, taking a few steadying breaths before she turned back to the table.

“It’s ok you lot, you can give me your plates. There are things we'd all rather be doing than pretending to eat.”

John spoke first, his voice sounding as strained as hers. They shared a look of understanding as two pairs of worried eyes met, he was in the same position worrying about Sherlock. She had to remember she wasn’t alone anymore, she was surrounded by a new family, all feeling everything she was. John especially.

“Sorry Mol, you know it’s not your cooking.”

Her smile to John was strained but her eyes were warm. She walked to the table to collect the rest of the dishes. Anthea and Greg sat close together, bodies touching all the way down one side fingers entwined.

“There must be something we could be doing?”

Greg looked to Anthea for guidance, as Mycroft's right hand she was the one they turned to in his absence. She concentrated for a moment, deep in thought.

“We could plot the buildings we know they used, or were connected to. Sherlock wrote the address’ down and we have the maps. It could be useful, you never know and at least it will keep our hands busy.”

Each of them nodding, Greg pushed back from the table and headed towards the box of maps they had brought in earlier.

“John, clear the table, would you? I’m going to spread the biggest map we have and we’ll find and mark each of the places Sherlock highlighted.”

As Greg and John moved to arrange themselves at the table, Anthea's phone beeped. Molly’s head sapped up at the sound but Anthea shook her head as she apologised and walked briskly to the study. Not Mycroft then, Molly's heart sank. Since her phone call they hadn't had any word from either of the Holmes brothers. The lack of news had them all twitchy, the longer they waited the more agitated they became. At some point someone was going to snap.

“Is it ok if I leave you two to it? I'm just going to go upstairs for a while.”

Both men looked at her and she saw concern plainly on their faces.

“Of course Mol, if you need anything give us a shout.”

“Thanks John, if you hear anything will you come get me?”

As both he and Greg nodded, Molly smiled at them and wrapping her arms around her middle, she left the kitchen heading for the bedroom. Just as she passed the study Anthea called to her. As she turned she saw the brunette hurrying towards her, arms out. Without hesitation Molly walked into Anthea's hug, squeezing her tightly in return.

“I'm alright A, I just want them back here.”

Still hugging her tightly, Anthea rested her head on Molly’s shoulder and spoke in her ear.

“I know Mols, it shouldn't be too much longer, I wouldn't think. A couple of hours at the most. When they do get back, give him a bit of time ok?”

She pulled back a little so she could look into Molly’s eyes.

“Not long, just fifteen minutes or so, just let him have a bit of time. Then he'll need you, more than he might want to admit. Just stick with him Molly. I know I’ve already told you this but you haven’t seen him like this, I’m not sure anyone has. There’s never been a situation like this so I don’t even know how he’ll be, I just want to help you as much as I can. He’s never let anyone close before. I'm so glad he's got you Molly, that he doesn't have to do this alone anymore. There's only been so much I could do to help in the past. You'll know what he needs, just go with your instincts, everything will be fine. You need anything, anything at all, just come to me ok? Even if it’s just company and a glass of wine. Because god knows we could do with one!”

Anthea stepped back, letting her arms fall to her sides. She had such a serious look on her face, Molly couldn’t help but smile a little.

“I understand and I’ll be whatever he needs. I don’t think I could do this without you A. Thank you.”

“Family, Mols. Now off with you, me and Toby are good in here, I'll feed him and I do believe me and my little man are due some cuddle time.”

Anthea shrugged it off, returning Molly’s smile and making shooing motions with her hands, indicating for Molly to carry on as she was. They both turned at the same time to return to what they were doing. Knowing that everything that needed to be said for now had been. Now the only course of action was to continue waiting, biding her time until she would have a purpose again, right now she felt a bit like a spare part at a wedding.

Once she reached the bedroom, Molly threw herself face down on Mycroft’s side of the bed. Pushing her face into his pillow and closing her eyes, she breathed in his scent. Fidgeting around to get comfy, she settled into the warmth and familiarity of the smooth cool pillow and the feel of the heavy damask bead spread under her fingers. Molly fell into an exhausted but fitful sleep as everything caught up with her. She tried to fight it, to stay awake. However, as her eyes rolled defying her attempts to control them, she had no choice as her body gave in to the demand to sleep.

\-----(000)-----

Hirsch was strapped to the chair again, this time the ropes holding him seemed to help rather than hinder. His head lolled back and forth and his eyes were dazed. Sherlock was fascinated.

“What the hell is in that stuff?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, brother.”

Hirsch giggled to himself as his head rolled on his shoulders eyes blinking wildly in the brightly lit room. Sherlock looked from the giggling man to his brother and back again.

“Is that normal?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes in agitation.

“Quite. This is why it is only used when other methods have been less successful than we would like. Be mindful Sherlock, we are subject to a time limit now. We had our time for leisure earlier, now speed is our friend. Fortunately for Mr Hirsch, his ordeal is drawing to a close.”

Sherlock indicated for Mycroft to take the chair in the back corner of the room. Pulling another chair across the floor, Sherlock set it in front of Hirsch and sat facing him. He wanted to be able to watch his face as he spoke to aid in the process of working out what was real and what was not. Sherlock clapped in Hirsch’s face to get his attention, he rolled his head around and his chin came to rest against his chest. His eyes crossed as he tried to bring Sherlock into focus. They needed to produce a baseline by which to determine Hirsch's truth and lies. Sherlock looked to Mycroft, raising his eyebrow in question. In reply Mycroft waved a hand at him, indicating he proceed as he saw fit.

“What is your name?”

He looked at Sherlock in confusion. Trying to process the question, not fathoming why they were asking when they knew.

“Arno. ”

“Why are you here, Arno?”

“You took me, you want antworten. But, I've been good, took everything you gave but gave you nothing back, nichts.”

“Du, schlank und dunkel, du hast beobachtet, willst mich jetzt zum reden bringen. Nein, gib ihm keine Antworten. Aber dann hört es vielleicht auf. Ja, es hört vielleicht auf. “ 

He dissolved into manic rasping laughter again, gasping and grimacing through the pain it caused. Sherlock was somewhat surprised by the dramatic shift in Hirsch’s state. The drugs loosened his tongue to be sure but also his mind. He spoke of Sherlock, not to him and argued with himself, to speak or not to speak. If he spoke perhaps the pain would stop, it was unclear which side was winning. Sherlock frowned, Hirsch was vocalising his thoughts certainly, but they were fractured. If he continued as he was, Sherlock was not sure how much use he would be to them. 

“Brother, I assumed he was given a sedative, or at least something to stop enough of the pain for him to focus?

Mycroft rolled his eyes at Sherlock, closing them momentarily and taking a deep breath before he answered.

“If we give him any more he will be face down and drooling. You will just have to cope with him as he is. I warned you of the effect on his mind.”

With a noise of disgust and contorting his face, he turned to resume the questioning before their time ran out. 

“Why were you watching Miss Hooper?”

His voice was slurred as he tried to speak. Whether it was due to the drugs or to the damage Mycroft had done to his face taking its toll, Sherlock couldn’t be sure. He scrunched his eyes and shook his head slightly, as though trying to remember but drawing a blank. He looked at Sherlock his eyes asking for more. Sherlock’s impatience started to emerge once more, he tried to tamp it, recognising that it would do him no favours to lose himself in pique. One Holmes on the cusp of anger was almost too much in the room, they couldn't add another to the mix and hope to be successful.

“The woman at the hospital. The one you were watching when we took you.”

“Softest target. Was given a list of kontakte, people close to him. Get to the suited man, find a way. Everyone else too aware. Polizei, Soldat, Genie. But she has guards, lots of them, government trained. Angry, very angry, makes it difficult. Who is the man? Warum, everyone so protected? Had to get more people, rely on numbers, overwhelm. Take the woman, make her talk, expendable so long as she speaks. But didn’t work. Nein, didn’t work. Now I’m here.”

Mycroft watched the disoriented man as he spoke. His anger simmered, barely contained as he began to pace the width of the room. He had known he would be the reason Molly had been put in harms way. However, to hear that they thought her expendable? None of them were expendable, all were valued. But Molly? The woman they had deemed of the least value, they could not have been more incorrect. She had the most value. He stormed up and with his fist drawn back and repeatedly hit him in the face. His composure was gone, all he wanted to do was destroy this animal. He didn’t stop until Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and physically pulled him away.

“Mycroft! Enough! Get out of here!”

Sherlock manhandled Mycroft and pushed him from the room and out into the corridor. Once he closed the door with his simmering brother on the other side, he returned to his seat in front of the man who held the answers they needed.

“Mr Hirsch, why were you meeting the scientist?”

“Take him the thing.”

His eyebrows drew together and he screwed up his face.

“Das Ding, the hissy thing! Paddy made. Paddy had to take it to him, he can make anything, alles. Useful to team Paddy. Paddy make’s things go boom.”

Sherlock was taken aback by the childish tone to his voice as he dissolved into giggles once more, as though his face has not just been subjected to. He spun to face his brother who had thrown open the door and stormed back into the room. He was quickly pressing buttons on his phone, then held it to his ear.

“Anthea, I need information on one Patrick Tiernan, we need it now. We may have a bomb plot on our hands.”

Without further ado the call ended, but he kept the phone in his hand.

“Five Minutes, see what else you can get out of him, then this is over.”

Mycroft once again left the room, his temper still boiling, his presence would not aid Sherlock. Especially not if Mycroft broke Hirsch’s jaw. He would wait in the observation room, able to watch but not reach out his hands and take the life of the creature that called himself Arno Hirsch. Distance between them could only be a good thing when they may still procure more useful information.

Sherlock nodded when he assumed his brother had situated himself behind the mirror and turned again to Hirsch.

“What were Paddy and Karl working on, Arno? You know you want to tell me.”

“Will ich? Ja, vielleicht, wenn es dann aufhört. Wird es? Vielleicht. Hab’s nur vergessen. Bio, Bio. Nope can’t remember. Sick, make sick. Sehr krank. Put it with the device, make it work. Wait for instructions. Always waiting, don’t like it, boring. Always half information, always half a story. Shouldn’t have taken job, money was too good. Greedy and paying for it now, yes paying for it now. It hurts, so much pain.”

He seemed to focus momentarily and looked straight at Sherlock.

“Can you make it stop? Make it stop, bitte?”

Sherlock was startled as the fog cleared from Hirsch eyes and he saw for a moment a man on the edge, a man fighting a losing battle with an all consuming pain and madness. He was slipping further and further away from them. His mind reverting to the language it knew best as it deteriorated. Almost immediately he changed back to the insular creature who was finally answering their questions, albeit disjointedly and in a childlike manner. Sherlock looked at him in fascination, watching the switching between lucid and disorientated in seconds. He had to give it to the Russians, they knew what they were doing.

“Where were you meeting the scientist, Arno? Where did you have to take the device?”

“Du fragst so viel. Zu viele Fragen. Zu wenig Antworten.“ 

“No Arno, I ask enough. Never too much and your answers may yet save you.”

“One of the houses, don’t know which. We tracked him but he used several, just had to wait for him to tell us which one to go to. Followed him, three address’ big white house, flat in north London and house in the country, only went there once.”

“Who is the target Arno, who are you going to hurt?”

“Alle, make everyone hurt. It’s what he wants, it’s what we agreed to. Soon, sehr bald. They’ll complete the plan even if you have me, Callum knows what to do. Not much time.”

The man's eyes rolled and that seemed to be the end as all the tension left his body. He was still conscious but unresponsive. Sherlock reached out his hand to press his fingers to the pulse in Hirsch’s neck. He watched in fascination as his pupils fluctuated wildly pinpricks to blown wide in seconds. He didn't hear the door to the room open, but jumped slightly as Mycroft spoke.

“No Sherlock, you will not be trying it.”

Sherlock span quickly, pulling his fingers from the erratic fluttering pulse that intrigued him.

“But…”

Sherlock’s face showed petulance and defiance, though it was equally matched by the stubborn and determined one Mycroft turned on him.

“No. End of discussion. Do not think to try and gain a sample so that you can attempt to recreate it yourself either, brother dearest.”

Hirsch was completely limp against his bonds. Sherlock tried to wake him but no matter how hard he struck the man’s face, he was unable to rouse him.

“That is all we are likely to get Sherlock, though I confess it is more than I anticipated after his resistance these past two days. We have enough to be working on. This has been a somewhat trying day for us all.”

Sherlock looked to Mycroft, really looked at him. He was much changed, the day having clearly taken its toll. He seemed almost small and fragile, a different man to the one that had embarked upon this journey.

“Come Sherlock, now we leave. Ignore him, his journey is it yet to end. Mycroft took one last look at Hirsch and again put the phone to his ear, it was only moments until he spoke, his voice tight.

“Anthea, call our friends, see which of them wants him. Whoever offers the best terms, can take him. I don't care who, you are more than capable of making the decision. We shall be returning to the house shortly.”

As they left the room for the last time, Mycroft took the lead. Sherlock watched as he deflated before his eyes, it only lasted a moment until he managed to pull his cold public persona in place. As Sherlock watched, it was as though he donned a disguise. Everything changed from his walk to the way he held himself. There was a reason he was an extremely dangerous man. The ease with which he completed the change was frightening, even to Sherlock.

Together they walked through the underground section of the compound, taking the lift back to civilisation. As they emerged into the night-time, it was as though they exited a parallel dimension. The hustle of London continued as normal. Cars flew past, horns blared, people bustled past. They stood immovable, like rocks in a stream as the water of London‘s life flowed around them. They felt set apart from the world. How could they continue as normal? Nothing that had transpired the last few hours could be considered normal, even by their standards. They had been forced to explore the very darkest parts of their personalities. How did you come back from that?

Sherlock started to tremor slightly, the adrenaline beginning to wane. He felt his strength leaving him. Ebbing slowly, leaving him feeling lost and small. He wanted John, his steadying presence at his side. The heat that compact form brought to his soul, to the heart he had so long denied. The emotions he had always denied having, had been resuscitated by the most stubborn, most infuriating, most beautiful man whose chest held the biggest heart he knew. He was laid bare, vulnerable as he has never before felt. He whimpered one word.

“John.”

He flinched as Mycroft laid a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him to a car he had not even noticed pulling up at the kerb in front of them. He allowed himself to be lead and guided into the car’s warm interior. He curled into the seat and rested his head against the window.

Mycroft took the seat next to him and enclosed them within the cocoon of the car. Sherlock shuffled in his seat, moving slightly closer to Mycroft.

“It’s ok little brother, we are almost home.”

Mycroft looked at Sherlock with concern, he was shutting down and that would do him no good. He looked so much like the small and scared child Mycroft had spent his life trying to protect, his chest burned and he longed to reach for the little boy he so clearly remembered. No matter how old Sherlock was, he would still be his baby brother, his to protect as much as he could. He pulled his phone out of his pocket at the same time as he leant forwards to speak to the driver.

“It is most imperative we reach our destination with haste, see that it happens.”

He was surprised when his voice emerged steady. Taking care of Sherlock would at least give him something to focus on and keep him centred for a little while longer. Raising the screen between themselves and the driver, he tapped out a quick message to John.

John we shall arrive at the house momentarily, please meet Sherlock at the car. He requires your support. I am truly sorry that he had to be involved John, please know that if there cold have been another course of action, I would have spared him. MH

Thank you, Mycroft. I will be waiting. JW

Satisfied his brother would be well cared for once they returned, Mycroft settled back into the car seat, moving so that he was in contact with Sherlock. His brother didn't move away, instead he pushed closer, tilting his head from the window to look at Mycroft.

“John is waiting. Everything will be all right Sherlock, eventually you will return to yourself. You can speak to me at any time, if you wish to discuss anything.”

“You've done this before.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he slowly turned his head to stare at Mycroft. It wasn't a question but Mycroft answered anyway.

“Regrettably yes, though the stakes have never before been this high. Let us return home shall we?”

Sliding back into distracted silence, Sherlock again stared out of the window at the lights of the city as they passed by. Mycroft used the time to transfer audio files of his notes taken when he had retired to the observation room to Anthea. He also sent through text messages detailing what had happened after he had re-entered the room. He knew she would process them in the most efficient manner and that took some of the pressure from him. His eyes slid to Sherlock again, he willed the journey to be a speedy affair. They were both in need of decompression and recuperation.

\-----(000)-----

Molly stood by the window of the front sitting room. When Mycroft had contacted Anthea and John, John had come to warn her that they were nearly home. It seemed their endeavours had not been in vain and Anthea was hard at work in the study with Greg, processing the information she had received via text message. Making sure each angle was being worked by the best possible people suited to the task. Together, she and John had moved to stand and wait, staring out of the front window into the quiet street, searching for the first sign of the black car that spirited them home. Silent in the darkness, they counted down the minutes. John poised like the soldier he was, arms behind his back, feet shoulder width apart. Molly in contrast fidgeted, foot to foot, biting at her thumb. She was crawling out of her skin and didn’t know what to do to stop the feeling. John reached up and prised Molly’s hand away from her face and held it in his. She squeezed his back in thanks as she settled slightly with his grounding presence. Molly saw the car first and was flooded with both excitement and fear, not sure which was strongest. She shook John’s hand urgently.

“John! They’re here. Go.”

She released his hand and pushed him in the direction of the hall. She turned quickly, returning to her post, hearing the front door open and the sound of John’s shoes hurrying down the stone steps to meet the car.

 

\-----(000)-----

 

John collected Sherlock from the car as soon as it pulled up at the house. Wrapping an arm around his waist, he glanced to Mycroft, nodded and lead Sherlock into the house. With the privacy screen up between him and the driver, Mycroft stayed in the car trying to compose himself just enough to get to the house without breaking down. The driver would wait all night without comment, if that is what it took. The adrenaline gone and his anger waning, only the heightened emotions remained along with a crippling fatigue. The awareness of what he had been forced to become once more played at the corners of his strained mind. Unconsciously he rubbed his right hand over his heart, as though trying to rub away pain. He needed to hold himself together, he needed to get in the house, needed to find his centre once more. He had been through this before, the drop after unleashing the very darkest part of his psyche. There had only been one thing that had ever meant enough to him to willingly delve into its depths before: Sherlock. Now he had Molly, he would face the very fires of hell, if he needed to in order to assure her safety. He would endanger himself any number of times, if that is what it would take.

For the first time he had not had to face such a situation alone. His brother, usually the root cause of him unleashing his darkness, had stayed with him, offering his support throughout all the horrendous things he had been forced to see and participate in. He had not left his side, had taken control when he was being pushed too far and Mycroft would be forever thankful for that. They may never speak the words aloud to each other, but they didn’t need to. The understanding was there, the knowledge of what each of them faced. They each held the monster within them, though they coped with it differently. Mycroft understood the burden it proved, which is why through all of Sherlock’s struggles he had never walked away and today Sherlock had repaid that loyalty. He rubbed his hands over his face roughly and exhaled forcefully. He could not remain in the car indefinitely, steeling himself, he held tightly to the pieces of him that threatened to shatter and pushed the car door wide and stepped from the interior with heavy feet.

\----- (000)-----

Molly watched as with an arm around Sherlock’s waist holding him close, John pulled Sherlock into the house, she looked on as they paused in the hall. Sherlock turned to bury himself against John, pressing his face into his neck and whimpering quietly. The smaller man wrapped both of his arms around the shivering detective, holding him tightly. Molly couldn't hear words but the soothing tone of John’s voice drifted to her through the open door. Releasing Sherlock from the hug, John took his hand and drew it to his lips. Pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s knuckles he pulled him towards the stairs and guided him towards their room. Knowing, as long as Sherlock had John he would be safe, eased Molly's mind somewhat. She would only have to worry about one of the Holmes brothers, the one who dominated her mind and heart, the one who still sat alone in the car. He was so close but so far away at the same time. Partially hidden by the heavy curtains she watched and waited. Eventually Mycroft left the car, making his way towards the house with the slow aged steps of a man who held the weight of the world on his shoulders. She covered her mouth with her hand to hold in the sounds that fought to escape. She wanted to run to him but she would listen to Anthea, she would give him fifteen minutes alone before she went to him. She stayed hidden in the shadows as he slipped through the front door silently. Molly turned on the balls of her feet to watch a broken version of the man she loved walk through the hall and straight to the stairs, taking them slowly and one at a time. Facing forwards, he saw nothing of his surroundings, just continued one foot in front of the other as he disappeared from view.

Molly paced in the dark room, constantly watching the time. Her feet kept trying to take her out into the hall, wanted to carry her straight to Mycroft. She wanted to touch him, to know he was real and safe under her hands. However much it went against everything her mind screamed at her to do, she watched the seconds ticking down until it was time. As soon as the time was up(,) she ran up the stairs and towards Mycroft.

\-----(000)----

Molly found Mycroft in their en-suite bathroom, she hesitated in the doorway momentarily. Her heart stopping at what she saw, after their phone call she had known it was bad. She had been able to hear it in his voice, but she could not have even imagined. He sat on the side of the bath, his head hanging low on his shoulders, hands clasped in his lap. He still wore his shirt but it was un-tucked and hung open at his sides. He didn't stir at her entrance, everything about him was focussed inwards. He was completely shut off from her and she did not like it at all. She would bring him back to her, she had no doubt this was how he had coped in the past, but now he had her and she would not let him damage himself further with his self imposed solitude. 

She walked into the room slowly, not wanting to startle him. Reaching out her hand she pushed her fingers through his hair at his temple, sliding it to cradle the back of his skull. She stroked the pad of her thumb over his ear, caressing it over and over as she traced the shell. He pressed closer into her hand as she continued the soothing strokes. She didn’t know if he knew but when something troubled him and they were alone, he played with his ears. Running his knuckles beneath his lobe or massaging it between his thumb and forefinger. A subconscious comforting gesture and she used it now to calm him.

“Oh Baby.”

She stepped between his feet and lifted her other hand to his hair and pulled him to her. Molly cradled his head close to her chest and gently stroked his hair. She felt a tremor run through him and he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed himself as close as possible. She lost track of time as they held each other, she curled around him, resting her cheek against his head, occasionally pressing kisses to his crown and whispering comforting words. She surrounded him with as much love as she could, reminding him of what he had here, trying to chase away the demons. She rocked gently, swaying them side to side slowly, another gesture meant to soothe the very deepest part of his soul. When she felt his tremors lessen, she dropped to her knees between his thighs, placing both of her hands on his cheeks, she raised his face to have him look into her eyes.

“You’re home My, everything that happened out there doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve got you.”

Molly pulled back, standing again. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and gasped. She was covered in blood, it was smeared across the stomach of her shirt. She knew it wasn’t hers and immediately returned to Mycroft, grasping his shoulders she pushed him until he sat with his back straight. He wouldn’t meet her gaze but she looked at his now exposed chest. Above his heart he had four vertical scars side by side, varying in age and pinkness. Now they had been joined by a fifth slash, diagonally cutting through the older scars. The wound was approximately three inches long and gaped, bleeding freely. The blood was startlingly under the harsh lighting of the bathroom, even for a trained professional, but it was always different when it was one of your own. Molly pulled a fresh white towel from the bathroom cabinet and forced it against his chest to stem the bleeding. Mycroft’s breath stuttered but otherwise he did not acknowledge the pain she knew it had to be causing him. She took his hand and placed it against the towel, pressing firmly to halt the flow of blood.

“Mycroft, hold that in place. Ok? I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

Molly fled the bathroom and headed towards the bedroom door, when her hand met the handle she stopped. She had to relax, whatever the reason behind Mycroft’s actions are, and she would find out eventually, he would not want the others to know what was happening upstairs. She had to calm herself so that the others did not get suspicious. She looked at the blood that covered her and her eyes flitted around the room. She spotted Mycroft’s gown at the foot of the bed, putting it on quickly and tightening the belt. Molly took a deep breath and slowly left the room, heading for the kitchen and the main first aid kit in the house.

As she reached the hallway she could hear Greg and Anthea in the study but the door was closed so she was able to pass without incident. She quickly pulled the tool box sized kit from beneath the sink and hauled it back to the bathroom, placing it on the counter next to the sink with a thump. It was only then that she noticed the old leather pouch lying in the sink. She caught a glimpse of surgical steel. Nudging he pouch open she found a scalpel. One of many, this one out of its sterile packaging and still held some of his blood. With the placing and the precision of the wound she knew it had been self inflicted, but that he had the equipment to hand? She knew his body, knew each of the scars, the only ones she would attribute to self inflicted wounds were the four, no five now, ones above his heart. She pushed the pouch away moving it out of her way. They would discuss this, she needed him to explain if she had any hope of understanding. That the other scars, varied in age, made Molly wonder about their significance.

Opening the lid to the first aid kit, she folded out the two top trays to get to the large space beneath. Washing her hands with surgical soap and then pulling on sterile gloves she covered the counter in a sterile plastic cover picking out gauze, sterile cotton and hydrogen peroxide, laying them on the green plastic sheet. She carefully opened the packets and left them resting in it, against the green background. She looked at the supplies relatively happy with them for the moment, she turned to face Mycroft who sat exactly as she had left him. Pulling at his hand, she gently removed the towel from the wound. She managed to stop the distressed noises from escaping her mouth, she had to rely on her training right now, she could go back to being worried Molly when she had the situation under control.

“My, I'm going to have to clean this, I need a better look ok?”

He didn't speak but leaned slightly further back, allowing her better access. His silence worried her still but there were more pressing problems to be dealt with first. The towel was covered in his blood, she glanced around before dropping it into the bath, it was going to have to go in the bin anyway. Quickly she replaced the gloves with a fresh pair, picking up the cotton she soaked it in e peroxide before moving to clean around the wound. The surrounding area cleaned, she moved to the wound itself. It was rather deep and her assessment that it was going to need stitching didn't change as she got a better look.

“This needs stitches, sterile strips aren't going to cut it. I can do it, but we don't have anything to numb the pain. Do you want me to do it or do you want to call someone?”

While she waited for him to answer, she pressed a clean gauze pad over the wound to keep it clean.

“You have to speak to me Mycroft, I need you to tell me what you want me to do. Please? I need you to help me.”

“I'm sorry Molly. I'm sorry you have to see this. Please, no one else. Stitch it, it won't be the first time I've had sutures without anaesthetic.”

“Never be sorry, we stand together remember? Just don’t make a habit of needing me to patch you up, ok? You ready? I’ll do it in as few stitches as possible but it’s not going to be pleasant.”

Reaching into the extensive supplies, she pulled out a suture kit. Throwing all the used cotton pads and bloody gauze into the tub with the towel, she sanitized the area ready to prepare the needle and nylon thread. Molly selected a large gauze pad and surgical tape ready to be opened and cover the stitches once she was done. She wished they had antibiotics just to be sure, she would ask John in the morning. While she could write prescriptions, she didn’t think she’d be allowed to leave the house to do anything about it and she didn’t have a prescription pad with her. She looked again at Mycroft, she needed to get him sitting somewhere that he wasn’t going to slip once she started. Looking into the bedroom, she spotted the chair at the dressing table. It had a straight back and arms, that would hold him even if he passed out. She stripped the gloves and jogged to carry the chair back to the bathroom. She placed it in a good position for light, so she would be able to see what she was doing.

“My, can you sit in the chair for me? Here, take my hand, lean on me if you need to.”

He gingerly moved from the side of the bath to drop into the chair, wincing as it jostled his wound, causing fresh blood to begin slowly soaking through the pad. Scrubbing her hands, Molly prepped herself and the equipment. She ticked the items off in her head, suture forceps, scissors, needle holder, thread, needles, wound drape, syringes of saline for one last wash of the wound. She was as ready as she was going to get, time to get the show on the road.

“I’ll be as quick as I can. If you need me to stop, you tell me.”

Meeting her eyes at last, he nodded and she saw him set his jaw, clenching his teeth in preparation. He began to breathe deeply through his nose and closed his eyes, tilting his head back. Molly took that as her cue to start, she was relieved when she took the pad away that the bleeding had stopped once more. Placing the drape over his shoulder and hoping it stayed, she quickly rinsed the would with the saline, not worrying about it as it streamed down his chest soaking into his trousers. Now she was ready to start. The first would be the worst, once she had the first one in place, they would both know where they stood. As gently as she could, she held one side of the wound with the forceps and with a steady hand pierced his skin with the needle, drawing the thread through. His hissing exhale hit Molly in the pit of her stomach but she had to continue. She tried not to focus on the pressure she needed to use as she pushed the needle through his skin, or the resistance as she drew the thread through pulling the edges together neatly.

Ten. Ten stitches and she was done. Thankfully her hands were steady even through she didn’t feel it inside. After the initial hiss, he hadn’t moved, he’d been still and silent throughout. The only signs he displayed were his white knuckles on the arm of the chair and the perspiration that beaded on his forehead. Taping the last layer of gauze over the neat stitches to keep them protected, Molly sighed in relief. She crouched in front of him, resting her head against his knees, he placed his hand against her cheek.

“I need to get you cleaned up, then we are going to bed. Don’t move from that chair and don’t argue. You don’t even need to speak right now.”

Rising from the floor, she cleared everything she had used into the bathtub, she’d deal with the clean up in the morning. Right now it looked like a scene from a horror movie. She ran hot water into the sink and soaked a flannel, soaping it lightly, she began to clean the blood and grime from his skin. She took great care when she came to his swollen hands, red and angry with small cuts across the protruding knuckles. She hadn’t even noticed them before now, how had she missed them? She rinsed the flannel and took his hand, resting his atop hers, palm to palm. Trying not to aggravate the abrasions, she ran the cloth gently over his skin, wiping away the traces of blood. She tried to replace the memories of their creation, with new memories. Ones of the sight of her, on her knees taking care of him. Once she was satisfied they were as clean as could be, she circled around him. Running the warm cloth over tense muscles, she rubbed at them gently trying to ease just enough of his tension so that she could get him to sleep. She felt him shiver as she stroked up and down his spine, his head rolling backwards. Content that barring a shower, he was as grime and gore free as she could make him, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Drawing his attention to her once more, pulling him from the stupor that kept him uncommunicative and distant. She could feel him returning to her and she breathed a sigh of relief, the tension that had made its home inside her while she had waited for him beginning to ebb.

“You’re done, now bed Mr Holmes, before you fall asleep where you are and I can’t move you. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Mycroft looked as though he was going to argue but she raised her eyebrow in challenge. He wisely said nothing but sluggishly began to rise from the chair, overbalancing slightly and staggering until Molly caught him around the waist. Once she steadied him, she undid his trousers, letting them pool at his feet so he could walk out of them. Pulling her blood covered top over her head, she dumped it on the floor along with her jeans. Dressed only in their underwear she took his hand and lead Mycroft to the bed. She pulled the duvet down and settled him on her side so that she had room to get close on his right hand side. Before joining him, she ran back to the bathroom, turned off the light and shut the door hiding the chaos inside. She just couldn’t deal with that right now.

Leaving only the dim lamp on the dressing table lit, she climbed onto the bed carefully, trying not to jostle him. She lay as close to him as she dared, not wanting to cause him any more pain. She was just about sorted when he spoke, his voice was low but for the first time since he had returned he sounded almost like himself.

“Thank you Molly. Thank you.”

She felt him moving, raising his right arm to slide at around her. He hissed as the movement pulled the muscles across his chest.

“My, stop moving! You’ll hurt yourself!”

“Please Molly, just let me hold you?”

“But your stitches.”

“Will be fine.”

“Be careful, and stay still. I’ll move ok?”

Molly rolled onto her side, pressing herself against him gingerly, placing her hand across his stomach, stroking her fingers across his skin. She frowned at how cool he was and groped for the duvet that, folded as it was, just about reached their knees. She pulled it over them and lay her hand back against his abdomen, allowing her fingers to continue stroking slowly. The arm around her tugged her closer so she was flush against him and she frowned thinking about the pain he must be causing himself.

“Having you here, like this, is far more important than the pain, so stop thinking so loudly. I believe I am under doctor’s orders to sleep.”

“Yes you are. So we sleep and forget about everything for tonight.”

“Until the morning my dear, good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Du, schlank und dunkel, du hast beobachtet, willst mich jetzt zum reden bringen. Nein, gib ihm keine Antworten. Aber dann hört es vielleicht auf. Ja, es hört vielleicht auf. “ 
> 
> You, slender and dark, you watched, now you’re trying to get me to talk. No don't give him answers! But it might stop. Yes it might stop.) 
> 
>  
> 
> “Will ich? Do I want? Ja, vielleicht, wenn es dann aufhört. Wird es? Vielleicht. Hab’s nur vergessen.” (I want? Yes, maybe, if it stops. Will it? Maybe. But I forgot.)
> 
>  
> 
> “Du fragst so viel. Zu viele Fragen. Zu wenig Antworten.“ (You ask too much. So many questions. So few aswers.)
> 
>  
> 
> I've not included the translations for the odd word used, mainly because in those cases I feel you can work out what's being said. If anyone does want the translation though, please contact me and I'll let you know.


	13. In the still of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title says, each of the couples in the still of the night. The aftermath, an insight into each of their relationships. More relationship building and affirming along with a little more shall we say physical contact. Some sweet some loving some hot. 
> 
> There are some notes at the end and a link to the song from the first scene if you want to listen.

In the still of the night.

The study was warm, heated by a crackling fire that bathed the room in flickering orange light. Cocooned in the relaxing warmth, Greg watched Anthea from his spot on the sofa. She sat at Mycroft’s desk, her head propped on her palm as she tried to keep her eyes open. She still held her phone in her hand, fingers twitching at the keys even as she drifted off. Just as her head bobbed and nearly slid to the desk, she jolted. Her eyes shot open and she caught Greg watching. A slow smile curved her lips before a yawn had her bottom lip trembling. The purple shadows under her eyes concerned him, she'd been fighting taking a break unless it was absolutely necessary. Right now it was looking pretty necessary to him. She dropped her head to rest on her forearms on the desk.

 

"Anthea."

 

"No."

 

She put her phone on the desk and dropped her head into her arm, face down against the cool surface. She didn't look up as she mumbled into her gap between her face and the desk, too stubborn for words. He tried not to roll his eyes and sigh in frustration.

 

"Everyone else has gone to bed, it's time for us to do the same."

 

She shook her head and sat up straight in the chair, blinking and bringing him into focus on the other side of the room.

 

"Exactly the reason I can’t. Still things to do, always things to do and it's barely been twenty four hours since I last slept, I'm good for that again at least, before I'll have to."

 

"Do we really have to have the “have to versus should” discussion again?"

 

She shuffled in the seat with agitation, then thought better of sitting and stood swiftly, sending the chair careening backwards on its wheels towards the window. She started to pace behind the desk, her movements stiff and jerking her arms folded in front of her like armour.

 

"I can't miss anything Greg, not with Mycroft out for the time being. I have to be him. Don't you see? If he doesn't think everything is being handled, he'll be down here trying to do it himself and he's in no state right now. I've seen him before Greg, after something like this. He doesn't need to have to deal with this as well."

 

Greg couldn't sit and watch any longer, dragging himself from the soft cushions he moved towards her slowly. When he stood in front of her, he slid his fingers up her arms with light caresses. Gently unfolding them from across her body and pulling them to rest on his shoulders. He moved into the circle of her arms and wrapped his tightly around her, urging her to rest her head against his chest. He pressed his nose into her hair and spoke quietly.

 

"OK. You stay up, I stay up. What do we need to do?"

 

Greg continued to hold her close but moved one arm, smoothing it up and down her spine in a way he knew relaxed her when she had bad days. He shrugged one shoulder nudging her arm to get her speaking again. She sighed before she spoke, her breath rushing up to tickle his chin.

 

"I'm not even sure anymore. We've got so many of the people in the office doing computer work, they're checking names and faces and searching for information on this doctor and Patrick Tiernan. They’re working through all the information Mycroft and Sherlock got from Hirsch, through everything. It's just waiting until they get back to me again, always with the waiting. Normally it's fine, it's part of the process but everything's just that bit more intense this time, Greg. I don’t really know what to do with myself. I just need to be available for when things start coming through. It could be a bomb Greg, that's what Mycroft said. We can't have a bomb plot in our city, not again.”

 

Greg started to sway slowly, shifting his feet slightly he reached his left hand to his shoulder to take her hand in his, drawing it to his lips. Anthea leaned back fractionally.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Distracting you, but I think we need music.”

 

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth and releasing her, he stepped towards the CD collection across the room. Scanning the shelves of albums, with a noise of triumph he plucked one case from the many. Sliding the disk into the player he selected the track and pressed play. As the first bars of April in Paris and Ella Fitzgerald’s sultry voice filled the room, Greg turned back to Anthea and held out his hand, bowing slightly as he did so.

 

“May I have this dance?”

 

Greg's eyes shone and Anthea had never been able to resist his smile. She moved towards him, as soon as she was close enough he took her hand and spun her into his arms. Lacing the fingers of their joined hand he wrapped his other arm around her waist. Anthea lay her head against his shoulder and wrapped her free arm around his neck. They started to sway together, letting the music carry them.

 

With Satchmo’s trumpet and Ella’s voice serenading them, they swept gracefully around the room, locked in each other’s arms. Effortlessly leading and being led in a slow and intimate dance. They may not be Fred and Ginger but no one, had they seen, would have been able to deny that the couple fit together perfectly. Moving with such comfortable grace and ease it was beautiful.

 

The tension seeped from Anthea's body leaving her pliant in Greg's arms as she relaxed into his hold. Losing herself in perfect synergy of their bodies as they glided across the polished floor and coloured rugs, moving around the furniture without incident.

 

Held securely, Anthea pressed herself closer to Greg, relishing in the heat that seeped through her clothes and into her skin. The world faded around them as the music, warmth and intimate softly lit room transported them to a world where only they existed. Turning her face to press her nose to his neck, she breathed him in filing this perfect moment away for frustrating days. She was completely overwhelmed when Greg lowered his head next to hers and started to sing softly in her ear, she was almost undone. His voice low and rumbling he sang with Louis.

 

"I never knew my heart could sing. Never missed a warm embrace. Til April in Paris. Now who can I run to? Oh what have you done to my heart? "

 

By the end of the song they were in front of the fireplace, moving in slow circles holding each other close. As the music came to an end with a final trill from the trumpet, they continued to sway. With a whisper Greg's voice broke into the silence. 

 

"Are you distracted yet?"

 

She struggled to find her voice, reluctant to break the spell that had settled over them. She could only manage a husky response.

 

"Very."

 

She lifted her head and with a smile and lowered eyelids, pressed her mouth to his in a lazy and romantic kiss, which Greg readily returned.

 

 

\-----(000)------

 

 

John wasn’t sure what woke him, whether there was a noise in the room or if it was the lack of Sherlock in his usual place, wrapped around his body like a blanket. They had eventually fallen asleep holding each other tightly, Sherlock had not wanted to speak. He had only wanted to hold John close, as though afraid if he wasn't in contact he would disappear. He reached to his side but found only the cool sheet covering the mattress beneath his fingers. Once Sherlock passed out he was usually out for the count for at least twelve hours, so for him to be gone alarmed John slightly. He opened his eyes and turned his head. Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed with his back to John. Hunched forwards, he was unmoving as he appeared to stare into the darkness. The orange glow that seeped through the gap in the curtains, played across the pale skin of his back, highlighting the ridge of his spine and throwing shadows beneath the arcs of his ribs. Not so pronounced as they had once been, but still on the wrong side of healthy as far as John was concerned. Rolling over to lie on his back, he reached his hand towards the pale spectre of his partner. Laying it against the small of Sherlock’s back, his skin was chilled and clammy beneath his fingers but Sherlock didn’t flinch at the contact. Such a change, John thought, from the very beginning.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

“It’s alright John, go back to sleep.”

 

Sherlock’s voice was flat, a complete absence of his usual energy. John moved closer to him, sliding his hand from his back to tighten on his hip, squeezing and pulling lightly, indicating that he wanted Sherlock to move closer. Sherlock took the hint and shuffled further back on the bed and lay back, resting his head against the left side of John’s stomach. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, as John curled around him slightly, wrapping his left arm around his shoulder to rest his hand against Sherlock’s chest.

 

“Don’t shut me out Sherlock, tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours.”

 

He tapped the fingers of his right hand against Sherlock’s forehead, before burying them into his curls to twist the hair around his fingers.

 

“It was more than I anticipated.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I never imagined that I would be affected quite so strongly. I thought it would be a fascinating experiment, a chance to observe something that I have never had the opportunity to witness. I was partially incorrect. I underestimated the negative effect it would have on me.”

 

“It's ok to be scared, Sherlock. I, was expecting it. I was scared for you. Torture, well. It doesn't just hurt the person being subjected to it. It is dangerous for both parties involved. If I could have kept you here, I would have. I'm just glad you weren't alone. I worry about you constantly, you know?”

 

“How do you know so much about this, John? You were a doctor.”

 

John’s hand stilled amongst the raven curls. Just for a moment before they continued their calming patterns against Sherlock’s skull.

 

“Still am a doctor, but let's save that discussion for another day, shall we? It's not important now.”

 

Uncharacteristically, Sherlock let the subject lie. He rolled to his side to look up to John’s face, something akin to wonder in his eyes. He began to run his fingers up and down the underside of the arm that rested across his body. He was distracted, definitely, but still wanted the added comfort of extra physical contact.

 

“Mycroft was… He was terrifyingly magnificent. Through all of it, the anger, the brutality, he was so calculated, John. I have never seen that side of him, so close to losing himself in all consuming rage. Every move he made so beautifully orchestrated to cause pain and give results. Awe, John. I was in awe of my brother. It is not something I have experienced in a very long time.”

 

“It’s ok to look up to your brother Sherlock, to admire him. He is an extraordinary man, and you two are very similar. It sounds about right that it would take a highly charged situation for you to realise it. You never like to do anything quite like anyone else.”

 

Sherlock was silent for a time, pillowed happily against John. Allowing John’s warmth to seep into him and calm his mind. He closed his eyes, letting himself relax into the sensations of John holding him together and surrounding him with his touch.

 

“All I could think was what if it had been you... What if they’d come for you.”

 

“They didn't, I'm fine. We're fine.”

 

“If it had been you, I would not have been as controlled as Mycroft. I would have killed them for daring to try and harm you. There would have been no questions. For the first time in my life, there would have been no questions, no quest for answers, I would not have allowed them to live long enough. I will not allow anyone to take you from me!”

 

“I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. I'm yours to keep and I will be forever and always.”

 

“You can't promise that, John. Not with the life we lead, because I pull you into danger at seemingly every opportunity. I am not unaware of the threat I pose to you.”

 

“Sherlock, I swapped one battlefield for another when I met you. But, I would rather face this one with you than be back in the sand of a foreign country fighting someone else’s cause.”

 

They lapsed into silence again, their breathing the only sound in the darkness. Sherlock contemplated John’s words. The time ticked away as they just enjoyed each other’s presence, taking reassurance from the contact of flesh on flesh.

 

“Sherlock, it’s cold. Come on up here so we can get under the duvet.”

 

“Not cold. Thinking, John.”

 

“Yes cold, you've got goose bumps. Up! Now! I've got you back, now I want to hold you.”

 

Sherlock huffed and made a great performance of throwing himself on his front and rising to his hands and knees. He threw himself down parallel to John, but stayed there only momentarily before he began shuffling around to settle himself between John’s legs so he could rest his head beneath John’s chin. He pressed his nose into his shoulder and breathed deeply, wriggling around until John did as he wanted and wrapped his arms tightly around him. Cocooned as he was, the tension drained from him, in its place settled a deep contentment. He could forget everything. He could stop thinking and rest in peace, so long as he was surrounded by John’s calming presence.

 

“Are you with me, Sherlock?”

 

“Yes, John.”

 

“Are you going to be ok?”

 

“Now I’m here with you? I will be.”

 

John tightened his arms a fraction, his Sherlock was with him and that was all that mattered. He would be all the support he needed in order to have him as they were now. Whatever tomorrow brought, no matter the cases or the intrigue and the dangers be damned. John finally had something of his own worth fighting for and he wouldn't let him go for a moment. Grasping blindly to his side he found the edge of the duvet and flung it haphazardly to land over the pair of them. They’d probably end up being too warm, but the feeling of being enclosed together was just too much to resist. The duvet offered them that little bit extra security however improbable it sounded. John wrapped his arm back around Sherlock, who was starting to breathe deeply against his shoulder. As far as John was concerned this right here, was perfection.

 

 

\-----(000)-----

 

 

Molly lay close to Mycroft through the night. Mostly she lay awake watching him sleep, aware of every twitch he made. In the early hours of the morning he started to thrash, moaning in his sleep, lost deep in the clutches of a nightmare. He didn't respond to her when she called his name or when she grasped his shoulder and shook him, trying to free him from the clutches of the images that terrified him. He cried out her name, his voice breaking and his panic tangible. The pain in his voice broke her heart; she never wanted to hear that in his voice again. Molly was scared that in his erratic movements he would tear his stitches. Unable to wake him she toyed with calling for help when he wouldn't respond, but she couldn't do that to him. He wouldn't want people to see him vulnerable, even if it was only family. These moments were private between the two of them, she was the security he needed at times like this and she’d be damned if she’d give up so easily. Molly was acutely aware that as out of it as he was, Mycroft could lash out and hurt her, if his training and survival instinct kicked in. She knew she had to make his mind realise it was her with him and that she didn't pose a threat to his well being. Kneeling by his side she placed her hand on his arm, when he didn't fight the contact she used it to brace herself as she swung a leg over his waist until she straddled him. He tossed his head, eyes still closed and his body bucked beneath Molly nearly unseating her but he made no move of anger towards her. Buoyed by his lack of resistance so far, she held on and placed her head close to his.

 

“Mycroft, you're scaring me. I need you to wake up My, before you hurt either of us. I will never blame you but you will not forgive yourself and will leave me and this bed because you don't think I can be safe with you. Please love, come back to me. Don't let me be alone.”

 

He paused in his fight only for a moment, but that moment gave Molly hope. With a small cry he was gone again. She was getting through, she just needed to reach him. His body was shaking but no longer twisting wildly, she dropped her weight on top of him and pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss.

 

“Come on love, I don't want to have to hurt you to wake you up but I'm not getting anywhere right now. You need to wake up Mycroft, I'm not even kidding.”

 

He was still too locked in the dream to hear her. She knew she was going to have to do it. She would have to deliberately hurt him. It went against everything she felt and everything she promised herself with regards to him. Moving to steady herself over him, she placed one hand on his face and biting her lip with tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, she placed her hand over the pad on his chest and pressed down. Crying out as she did it, knowing how it was going to hurt. It took only a second before he roared and she was flipped onto her back, pinned to the bed by his body from the waist down.

 

“Mycroft, it's me. You're ok!”

 

As his eyes focused, he immediately recoiled, scrambling backwards towards the bottom of the bed, horror in his eyes.

 

“Molly, did I hurt you?”

 

She knew that look and there was no way she was letting him even try and go down that path. She went after him, crowding his space, not letting him put distance between them.

 

“I hurt you, not the other way around. You wouldn't wake up so I had to take drastic measures. You didn't even try to lash out at me. So no, don't you dare pull away from me. I'm sorry I had to hurt you, how are you doing?”

 

On her knees she pressed herself to his arm, putting aside that she might aggravate his wound further, he needed the contact more.

 

“I will not deny it is throbbing, however it is definitely preferable to remaining as I was. Thank you Molly, I apologise for waking you in such a rude manner.”

 

She wrapped her arms around him, when he finally turned his head and looked at her, she pleaded with her eyes.

 

“I wasn’t asleep but it wouldn't matter anyway. Talk to me. Explain what you can. Just don't push me away."

 

“You are sure I did not harm you? Please do not lie to me, not about this.”

 

“You didn't, stop avoiding answering.”

 

“I do not mean to be deliberately evasive, these things are not something I have discussed with anyone in the past. Before you speak, I am well aware you are not merely anyone. You are everything, my dearest heart. The nightmare is standard I suppose, fuelled by the events of the day. Nothing unexpected, though more persistent than anticipated. For which I apologise once more.”

 

He took her hand and placed it over his heart, holding it there. The pain pushed aside as he struggled to speak the words she waited for. It was several moments before he took a deep, steadying breath.

 

“I hear your questions, the ones you do not voice. These? These are my reminders. A mark for each time I step too closely to the blinding rage that is my legacy.”

 

His hand around hers, he curled her fingers inwards leaving only her index finger extended, he trailed that finger over the covering concealing the scars he knew so well. Guiding it over the white patch, tracing the lines oldest to newest, four elongated downward strikes. He hesitated before dropping her hand, allowing her to trace the latest addition on her own. Her gentle touch ghosting across the concealed flesh she had pieced back together.

 

“I carry darkness within me Molly, one that threatens to consume me should I permit it. It lies brooding in wait, seeking opportunity to unleash itself from the cage I create most diligently. It is a most unwanted gift from my forefathers, even if it does permit me to undertake things that others could not.”

 

Molly watched him closely, frightened that if she spoke, she would break his concentration and he would stop. He needed to speak these words, needed to explain and be heard.

 

“Three for Sherlock, one for myself and the newest one…”

 

When he paused she knew she had no choice but to speak and help him finish. Quietly she filled the silence that he let hang in the air.

 

“For me.”

 

“Yes, for you. Do not however think to burden yourself with feelings of guilt. Each of these marks I made willingly. Each situation which warranted the addition of another, I would do again without hesitation. For each action was, at the time, remaining unto this day the only option available. I would without question, experience those situations again to ensure the outcome remained favourable. I do what is required and I do this to remember that there must be consequences, even for me. Especially for me. The adage of corrupting power is not lost on me, Molly. I am astutely aware of the power I wield, combining it with the anger?”

 

“Should I assume that like today, each mark was preceded by an act against someone who meant Sherlock or yourself harm?”

 

He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes as though wondering where she was going with her line of thought, before making an almost imperceptible nod of confirmation.

 

“Do these scars represent the only times? Not to belittle them in any way, but help me.”

 

“Yes, they are the five times my control was bested.”

 

“Did you start it? Them?”

 

“It is of little consequence. However, I was not the initial aggressor.”

 

Molly needed to look him in the eyes, needed to make sure he both saw and heard what she had to say. Releasing her arms from around him, she moved to instead kneel in front of him, his legs spread either side of her. She waited a moment, resting her forehead against his as she gathered her thoughts. Trying to find the words she needed. Taking his hands in hers, holding them in the space between their bodies.

 

“I can't deny, with the evidence that yes, Mycroft, you hold great anger. You responded to extreme situations in an extreme way but you recognise that it was almost too far. You are saved by that, you know what you did wasn't necessarily the best thing, but it happened and they brought it on themselves. You temper it with great love and patience. Don't look like that. You love me, I know that without question. You love Sherlock and god knows, he tries your patience every chance he gets. You just told me, three marks for whatever you did on three occasions to people who meant Sherlock harm. You willingly let out the anger you despise in protection of Sherlock. That is love. That is caring about people.

 

“Caring is not an advantage, Molly.”

 

“You do care Mycroft, you always have. I saw it the first time I met you, in that warehouse was a big brother protecting his little brother, you stole a little bit of my heart that day and each day since you’ve taken the rest into your care. The longer I know you the more I see how deeply and more completely you care, more than anyone else I know. Caring is an advantage, because when that care, that love is returned it makes you stronger, not weaker and I love you more than anything in the world. You protect Mycroft, it is what you do. Your job, this country but most of all you protect your family, our family, at great cost to yourself and without thought for your own feelings. Caring is the greatest advantage and your capacity for it is astounding, given how alone you have been. But I promise you it’s different now. You are not alone any more, not even a little bit. You are not the Ice Man, you can't hide from me Mycroft. I believe in you with every part of me.”

 

Molly took his face in her hands, he needed to understand and believe without question the words she had spoken. The surest way she knew how to make that happen was to have him see it in her eyes.

 

“Mycroft Holmes, I see you. I see all of you.”

 

Lost with what to say next, Molly did the one thing she never required over thinking. She leant forwards and pressed her lips to his, coaxing him to respond with gentle pecks and nibbles. She could almost hear as the walls he had placed around himself came crashing down. When he succumbed, he did so with such complete abandon it took her breath. He seized her thighs and with one fluid movement was on his back with her on her knees straddling his hips. She braced her palms low on his chest, her fingernails grazing as she grasped at his skin, leaning forwards she arched her back, pushing her breasts forwards.

 

Mycroft’s voice was low and questioning as he looked up at her, his eyes narrowing, trying to ascertain any ulterior motives in Molly’s actions. He didn’t want her to do anything because she felt she had to, he never wanted her to feel obligated to do anything she might not want to.

 

“Molly? Are you sure?”

 

She looked down at him, nothing but love and desire in her eyes. Leaning forwards she stopped when her nose met his and slowly rolled her hips against him, the change of angle brushing his erection against her core.

 

“Always, Mr Holmes. Always. Let me show you”

 

She was still smiling when she angled her head and closed the remaining inches between them, sealing her mouth to his, showing him with the thrust of her tongue and the play of her lips just how much she wanted him, would always want him. He had come so far in the time they were together, there was no way she was letting him slip away from her now. Molly continued to rock against him, quickly frustrated at the clothing between them. She levered to her feet until she stood over Mycroft, slightly unsteady on the mattress. When she wobbled he reached for her thighs, gripping them as he steadied her. She slid her thumbs into the waistband of her knickers and worked them slowly down as she rolled her hips. She smiled when she felt his fingers grip tighter and he sucked in a deep breath. Bending at the waist she pushed at the material until her fingers met his, leaving it up to him to drag them the remaining way down her legs. She stayed as she was, bent slightly forwards but reached around to undo the clasp to her bra, letting her breasts spill free as she slid the straps down her arms and dropped it by Mycroft’s side. She let her arm hang for a moment before bringing her shoulders forwards, pushing her breasts together.

 

“Touch my, Mycroft. Please?”

 

With her plea she palmed her breasts, rolling her nipples between her fingers and thumbs, not looking away from Mycroft for a moment. There is only so much a man can take, even a man as composed as her Mr Holmes. Apparently that was the final straw, he moaned deep in his chest and finally ran his hands down the length of her legs, his fingers leaving heat in their wake. He took her hand to steady her as he tapped her calf for her to lift her foot, so he could slip the knickers free. She felt deliciously naked in front of him as she kicked them to the side of the bed, bared completely, body and soul, before him. Knowing he’d see, he’d observe and know what he did to her. Know that she accepted all of him, no reservations, no conditions.

 

“What on Earth did I ever do to deserve you?”

 

“Love me.”

 

“Until the day I leave this Earth.”

 

Molly crouched over his thighs, taking handfuls of his pyjama pants and waiting until he lifted his hips, allowing her to slide them down until they rested under his arse, freeing his erection. As soon as he dropped back against the mattress she sank forwards to land on her knees, arms braced either side of his head. Mycroft raised his knees, jostling her forwards to land heavily against him, her breasts brushing his mouth as he flicked his tongue out to tease her nipple. He kicked his legs to remove the bottoms completely, not stopping as he laved her breasts, tilting his head to alternate attention on both tempting peaks. Molly was left writhing at the scratch of his stubble against her sensitive skin proved almost too much. He settled his hands against the perfect globes of her rear, waiting a moment before sliding his long dexterous fingers along her sides. As she leant back he grasped her rib cage, almost able to span the width of her back entirely, his thumbs stroking at the creases below her breasts. Trusting that he would support her, she clasped her hands to his head and neck, pressing him closer as he teased her nipple between his teeth. Molly bit her lip and squeezed her eyes closed as her breath caught and her body shuddered. Relishing in the press of his hips against the inside of her thighs, heat coiling deep within her, slowly pressing back and forth she teased him, his length gliding between her folds and teasing her clit. Manoeuvring her feet slightly under his thighs, she raised her hips and slid backwards, seating him within her with a small shuffle. Pressing her forehead to his she panted as she stretched around him, welcoming him deep inside her, joining them in more than body. She was full to the point between pleasure and the delicious sting of almost too much. She contracted around him, her body squeezing him tightly holding him deep inside her, as she relaxed enough to move her body demanded more. More friction, more contact, more everything.

 

“Jesus Molly, so ready for me.”

 

“Told you, always.”

 

Mycroft lay still beneath her, letting her set what ever pace she wished, letting her make the decisions, giving up his control for her only. Her whole body was tight, her muscles begging her to stretch, wanting the tensing and release each one. Not enough but closer, she couldn’t fight it, pressing her pelvis against his pushing him impossibly deeper inside her, the pressure increasing for both of them. Sitting up she arched her back, reaching her arms high over her head, feeling the delicious pull of her muscles as she reached for the ceiling and circled her hips. Her chest tightening as she looked down to see Mycroft gazing at her with wonder in his eyes. His hands now gripped her waist tightly as he tried to remain still. He was rendered speechless by the sensual angel that peeked at him through a halo of wild hair with heavy lidded eyes, body stretched and arching in a very feline manner.

 

“Mycroft, move! Lift me, pull me down, take me Mycroft. Make me see stars.”

 

Her words reached him and he did exactly as she demanded. Hands hugging the curve between her thighs and the cheeks of her bum, he raised her slightly allowing him the room to press himself leisurely inside her, then slowly withdraw torturing them both with the gradual build of tension. Not fast, not frantic, there was no need to rush they both wanted this to last. It was about more than instant gratification. He held her over him, his thrusts rolling against her, pushing him deep inside her, bumping slightly against her cervix, the nudge of an indescribable feeling, not pain exactly something more intense, a pleasure not quite like anything else. Knowing he was as deep inside her as he could be, that they were as close to being one person as they ever could. She pushed herself down, grinding with slow swaying movements, loving the burn that was kindling in her stomach, growing brighter with the promise of explosive consequences.

 

 

Molly watched as the tendons in his neck stood out, calling for her mouth to claim them, to take them between her teeth and mark him as hers. She sank forwards, grateful for the height difference that allowed her to angle her head and claim the join of his neck and shoulder. Mycroft groaned and stuttered inside her. As his thighs fell wide, the change of the angle added even more delicious pressure to that which already built between them. He wrapped his arms tight around her, holding her close as he continued the unhurried thrusts, she could feel all of him as he brushed against every sensitive spot she had all at once. Shivering waves coursed through Molly’s body, waves that ebbed and flowed from her head to her toes and back again, circling low in her pelvis. They were close, Molly was shaking, losing control of her muscles and she could feel Mycroft’s legs moving restlessly against the bed. The tension was building, pulling her tight but showing no signs of peaking. She whimpered against his chin, mouthing her lips against the rough edge of his jaw. Mycroft took her mouth, owning it completely, his tongue thrusting in time with his pulses deep inside her. She broke away to look into his eyes, pleading with him as she moved restlessly, searching for climax.

 

“I can’t, Mycroft I can’t. Please.”

 

“You can Molly, you will. Tell me when.”

 

“It’s too much.”

 

“Keep looking at me Molly. Fix your eyes on me, keep them open. Trust me to take care of you.”

 

He kissed her again, his eyes open and intense as he held her gaze. He reached between them, trapping his hand between their bodies, he circled his middle finger slowly around her extremely sensitive clit, adding pressure in just the place he knew would send her careening over the precipice. Separating their lips one final time he spoke, low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest and into hers.

 

“Now, Molly.”

 

That was all it took. The slow build, the overwhelming sensations as she was held at the peak, the crawling of her skin as the pressure grew, threatening to overwhelm her completely. At his words everything was ignited, the final master stroke. Her eyes closed tightly, her previously erratic breathing stopping completely as, lip between her teeth and head thrown back, she exploded in to a million pieces. Her whole body seized tightly, before jerking over and over again. Her body was no longer her own as light burst behind her eyes and thought became impossible. Lost only in the tensing and releasing of her muscles, everything from her rigid splayed fingers to her thighs squeezing Mycroft’s hips and the curling of her toes. Her core held Mycroft so tightly he couldn’t move but the rippling of her walls pulled him with her, massaging him over and over again as she convulsed around him, her wet heat milking him dry. He held her close, both riding the waves as they continued to pulse. She could feel him throb within her as the contractions slowed slightly, spilling himself deep inside her which only made her grip him harder. Once she ceased to shake so violently Mycroft feared she would unseat herself and fall off the bed, he began to rub his hands over all the skin he could reach, relishing in the damp and fevered skin beneath his hands. She made small contented sounds as she continued to twitch boneless and sprawled covering Mycroft completely. He held her against his chest, his thighs pressed tight against her rear. He wrapped his arms around her, resting them in the curve at the base of her spine. 

 

 

When she had some control over her muscles again, she moved her head to look down at Mycroft’s relaxed face. He opened one unfocussed eye when he felt her move, his mouth curving at one side with a lazy smile as he looked up at her.

 

“Love you, My.”

 

“And I you.”

 

Dropping her head to his chest she settled in comfortably.

 

“I think I need to sleep now.”

 

“Come along beautiful, lets get back to the pillows.”

 

“Does that mean I have to move? Because you know, I’m quite happy here. You’re very comfortable.”

 

“Not if you hold on tight.”

 

Mycroft rolled them until she lay beneath him. He pressed his lips to hers, just a quick gentle kiss.

 

“Arms around my neck, legs around my waist and hold on.”

 

She clung to him without hesitation, holding herself tight to his front. He rose to his hands and knees, taking her with him as he crawled up the bed. Perhaps not the most graceful move ever but it had her giggling by the time he deposited her against the pillows. He released her, only to move down her body resting his face against her stomach.

 

“Do you laugh at me, wench?”

Molly didn’t answer; she just carried on laughing, making no attempt to stop. She pushed her fingers into his hair as he rubbed his stubbled jaw against the soft skin near her navel. The rasp of his chin tickled, making her laugh even more He gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes in defeat, all the while smiling against her skin. 

 

“There truly is no hope, is there? Go to sleep love, morning will be here soon enough.”

 

She stroked her fingers through the wild mess of his hair, deciding she liked the dishevelled look on him. It made him look wanton and exhausted at the same time.

 

“You staying there or coming up here?”

 

“You do make a rather good pillow.”

 

“And you’re a good blanket but it’s up to you. I’m happy either way.”

 

“Hmm comfortable yes, but I do think my arse is going to get rather chilly.”

 

Molly was still laughing quietly but her eyes were closing, whether she wanted them to or not. Sleep would claim them both soon enough, Mycroft’s mind calm enough to relax and allow sleep to sneak upon him. As he watched, Molly’s breathing deepened and the fingers against his scalp stopped moving slowly sliding from his crown to rest on her stomach either side of his head. There were no words to accurately describe how lucky he felt to have the support of such a strong and loving woman, but now was not the time for such thoughts. A yawn brought tears to his eyes and stretched his jaw wide. Slowly, so as not to wake her, Mycroft moved from resting against her to his side of the bed. Settling against the pillows and closing his eyes. With a sigh Molly rolled towards him, still fast asleep. He wrapped one arm around her and held her close as he too, slipped into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I couldn't do any of this without MyCitrusPocket. She is a huge inspiration and guide when I'm getting lost. Kat as always this is for you. 
> 
> If you fancy a listen this is the song from the first scene, I must have listened to this 30 or more times when writing and now I can't hear it without seeing the whole thing in my head. 
> 
> http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=v7VLDheurRs


	14. Slow Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly as it says in the title.
> 
> As always I couldn't do any of this without MyCitrusPocket, she saves everyone from my horrendously bad punctuation and scatter brained mistakes. Thank you Gumbie for keeping me going when I'm having a hard time.

When Molly stirred into wakefulness, she blinked at the bright light flooding from the bathroom. As she was sprawled across the middle of the mattress she worked out pretty quickly that Mycroft was no longer in the bed with her. She rolled on to her back with a groan. Her body ached in places she didn’t even know could ache, but it was a tremendous feeling. She stretched, contracting all her muscles pulling her limbs in close and rolling her spine and then flung them wide to land heavily and bounce on the mattress, groaning a little as she did so, everything seemed to protest the movement. Molly heard a muffled chuckle, lifting her head from the pillows and saw Mycroft sitting on the wooden chest at the end of the bed. He wore only a towel wrapped low on his hips, water droplets dripping from his hair and trailing glistening tracks down the pale freckled back. He was leaning forwards, his shoulders hunched as they shook slightly. That little movement eased the knot of tension in Molly’s stomach. She thought she’d lost him again for a moment.

“Laugh all you want. It’s your fault you know, I think I’m broken.”

Mycroft twisted at the waist to watch as Molly floundered against the sheets. He felt a twinge of regret knowing he was the reason for her discomfort.

“Molly, are you well?”

“Don’t panic, I’m better than well, I’m glorious. I’m just whinging because I can. There’s nothing quite like it, I think I could melt into the mattress even now, thank you very much."

Molly writhed a minute longer, twisting her body and stretching. She pulled a pillow over her head and groaned heavily into it. That was until something tickled her nose and she began to sneeze. One after another, each as explosive as the last she sneezed with only moments between them. She convulsed with each one until it looked like she was doing sit-ups. Mycroft watched from the end of the bed, eyebrows raised in question at her antics. Eventually she settled flat against the bed once more. Mycroft waited expecting another round of gymnastics, when he was relatively sure she was done he dared to speak once more.

“Molly? What on Earth brought that on?”

“No idea, but I hope it’s done. Rather random, but hey. Bonus, I’m awake now at least. Urgh, my stomach. This is why I don't go to the gym.”

“Because it makes you sneeze?”

“No, because it hurts!”

“Was that my pillow you just so delightfully sneezed all over?”

“Hmm, possibly?”

“Feathers and down, Molly. It's full of feathers.”

This time he couldn't help it, laughter burst from him. His shoulders shook as he tried without luck to stop. Pulling a face she grabbed the pillow and flung it at him, it smacked him in the face before he tossed it to the floor. 

“All right smarty pants, surely I would have sneezed before if it was the pillow?”

“When alone, you use your own, which is not filled with feathers. When I am here, you press me in to service as your pillow of choice. Perhaps you just haven't held   
one over your face and inhaled deeply before. Who can be sure?”

“It's not allowed back on the bed. If it is the feathers that set me off, I'm not doing that every morning!”

“I do not know, I have to say it was rather entertaining.”

“Carry on and you won't be allowed back in either, Mister.”

Molly pushed herself to sitting in the middle of the large bed. Brushing at her hair with her hands she tried to tame the birds nest on her head, having to settle for it not quite covering her eyes. She glanced around the room, her gaze stopping only momentarily on a full black bin bag sitting just outside the bathroom door. She decided not to make a big deal of it, knowing he would have wanted to save her from having to see his blood again and not wanting anyone else to have to see it at all. She skimmed over it instead to look at the clock, frowning at the early hour. 

“Why are we awake? More so, why are you all the way over there?” 

“Because, my dear, it is time to wake up and take over from Anthea. I am quite sure she is ready for sleep. Being as she remained awake last night in order to allow me time to rest. I also imagine Greg would like to retire after remaining with her through the night.”

“Fine, fine, make me feel guilty. I suppose we're up now anyway, might as well relieve them before the natives get restless. You’d best not have got your stitches wet in the shower Mycroft Holmes! Shush! Don't say anything because I already know you did, because you know best. Never mind that I'm the one person in the room with an actual medical degree. Let me look then.”

“Everything is well Molly, do not worry yourself unnecessarily.”

“No worry for you is unnecessary. You are mine to worry about. So let me judge for myself if everything is fine, thank you very much.”

Molly crawled towards the bottom of the bed still naked and warm from sleep, sliding herself in tight behind Mycroft, she wrapped her legs around his hips and pressed herself flush against his back. She rested her cheek against his shoulder blade, pressing a kiss to the line of his spine. Reaching around him she entwined her fingers on top of his stomach.

“I am never going to win an argument with you, am I?”

“Silly man, not about the things that matter to me. You are top of the list by the way.”

Absently rubbing her fingers across his stomach she was quiet for several minutes just enjoying the contact of their bodies. Not sexual this time, but all about comfort and familiarity. To be naked and comfortable together whilst just being? That was a truly beautiful thing and Molly cherished it, even more so now. She couldn't help but run her face against the smooth skin of his back and relaxing into him. 

“Are you falling asleep back there? There is no reason for you not to stay here and keep the bed warm, all day if you wish. Go back to sleep, my darling.”

To accompany his words Mycroft ran his fingers in lazy patterns over the back of her hands. The same pattern he often traces on to her skin as she lies against him as he lulls her to asleep.

“Don't think I don't know what you're doing. No, I'm up. If I go back to sleep I'll end up being fuzzy headed all day. So we're up, but I'm still not distracted enough to forget I'm having a look at my handy work.”

Smiling, she slid her hand upwards in search of the gauze covering the stitches. The pad was still on place but it was wet, just as she had known it would be. She held her hand still for a moment before allowing herself to take the corner of the tape and gently peel it back from his skin. 

“Ok?”

“Quite, Molly.” 

Pulling back she climbed off the bed and with a steadying hand on his arm moved around to his front, dropping the pad next to him on the chest. She straddled his lap and leant close to look at the neat row of stitches. She felt Mycroft’s hands in her hair, catching at the knots.  
As usual the gravity defying nature of Molly’s morning hair astounded him. He couldn’t help but reach his hands to it, the strands were still soft and thick but it stood out all over her head with amusing results. He tried to gently tease the knots free, whilst trying not to let the rather undignified vibrations escape his body to become deep chuckles. He wasn't sure if he helped at all but the actions were quite soothing and served to distract him from focusing on Molly's intent examination of his chest. 

“I am quite sure the correct response to a beautiful woman sitting naked in your lap, is not laughter. However, Molly dearest what on earth do you do in your sleep to make your hair do this?”

“Hmm? Oh the answer to that would be you. I do you. Though usually before sleep, which results in my hair looking like this when we wake up. I think it’s a worthwhile trade.”

Molly didn’t stop her evaluation of his stitches as she spoke. There was no excess redness and he appeared to be moving quite happily only allowing slightly for the pull of his skin. She was satisfied that they were healing well and that there was no cause for undue concern. Patting his arm she settled back comfortably on his knees.

“You’ll do, just be careful ok? If they start to hurt more or feel strange at all, tell me. If we’re going to start the day now, we’d best get moving. You get dressed, I’ll shower and you can go take over from Anthea. I’ll be down in a bit. Oh and get that smug look of your face just because you were right and it’s fine.”  
Mycroft slid his hands to her hips and held on just a little bit longer.

“Permit me one more kiss?”

“Just a quick one then. We’ve things to do and we can’t get distracted and avoid them.”

Molly braced her hands against his waist close to her own thighs where they draped over his legs, leaning in slowly and tilting her head until their lips met. The kiss was soft and romantic, as far as Molly was concerned it was the perfect way to start a day. Before either of them deepened the kiss and they got carried away, she broke away and hopped off his knee. She stood in front of him, one hand on her hip the other pointing at his wardrobe.

“Go get dressed. You’re the one that told me we need to get up, so go!’”

“I do believe I said I had to get up. I do recall advising you, to remain as you were.”

Molly raised one eyebrow and now stood with both hands on her hips. The epitome of perseverance she didn’t speak again, just stared at him, waiting for him to move. He weighed his options, conceding that he couldn’t continue to sit just because of his obstinacy. With a sigh, he got to his feet and moved to get ready. He caught sight of movement in the mirror on her vanity and the vision brought him to a standstill. Swivelling quickly he caught her doing a little dance of triumph as she skipped to the bathroom obviously thinking he couldn’t see, or not caring that he could. Either was a possibility. He couldn’t help but stop and stare at her antics, perhaps he may have stood a little longer watching the curves of her rear disappearing around the bathroom door than some might say were warranted, he was only a man after all and couldn’t tear his eyes from her. He stared at the closed door for a moment before shaking his head and getting dressed as he had been instructed. 

\-----(000)-----

Mycroft pushed open the study door to find Greg sprawled on the sofa with one arm over his eyes. He was awake but barely by the look of it. At his appearance Greg staggered to his feet and headed for the door.

“Send her to bed when you’re done, yeah? Oh and I warn you, she’s been like this for hours. Good luck.”

Mycroft frowned as his eyes followed Greg’s meander out of the room, stretching and yawning as he went. Still confused and he would admit slightly worried by being wished good luck, he turned towards his desk. The chair faced the window and the height of the back hiding any sight of Anthea’s head.

“Anthea?”

He stood in front of his desk now, still she remained facing away from him. He waited, not quite patiently but assuming there was a reason for it. Without warning the chair slowly began to turn, revealing a grinning Anthea with Toby happily ensconced on her lap, being stroked head to tail.

“Ah, Mr Holmes. We’ve been expecting you.”

Mycroft couldn’t keep the amused look off his face, as he chuffed out a breath of air before managing to stifle the laugh and form his face into his classic expressionless visage. Well almost expressionless, but Anthea could see the slight tilt in his lips that went with the raised brow. This little quirk of Anthea's always lightened his mood when things became dire. He’d had many opportunities over the years to encounter over tired Anthea, the times when she became what could only be described as goofy, her minds way of staying awake, distracting her from just how tired she was. Pulling up every bit of energy she had to keep going. He knew the next stage she faced also. Those were the times she pushed herself too far and he found her asleep in the back of one of the cars or slumped over her desk, regardless of what she had been doing she just dropped like a stone. They didn't have long before that happened so he would have to make this quick and then take over, sending her to rest. 

“Are you feeling quite well, Anthea? I do believe you are confusing your Bond’s, Blofeld did not say that. Or perhaps you are however seeking to mimic Dr Evil. No need to look quite so aghast, I am aware of the film, Molly insisted it must be watched.”

“Spoiling my fun, Sir? Perhaps I am my very own super villain.”

“That is true, I will admit I would hesitate should I find myself your adversary.”

“At least you recognise my potential. It is nice to be recognised. To business then?”

Anthea released Toby who strolled across the desk to butt his head against Mycroft's stomach. While he watched Anthea pulling together pieces of paper and grabbing her phone, he absently scratched Toby's head, the cat nearly falling off the desk as he leant forwards to reach him. If he moved, Toby would end up on the floor and while he might occasionally complain, he would begrudgingly admit to having a soft spot for the little menace. 

“We've had a busy night Sir, we may actually be making progress.” 

As she moved around the desk she looked down at the print outs she held. 

“James woke briefly during the night. He still has a long recovery ahead but it looks like he’s going to live. As you instructed his family are being looked after and even if he doesn't come back to work with us he will be taken care of. He wasn't awake for long, but he did have some information that might help. He remembers them talking about the target, it doesn't appear to be the trains as we initially feared but rather a large public event. They never said which but they did say they weren't far from completion so the plan could go ahead within the week. James said the way they talked it sounded as though there may be multiple devices. He couldn't say how many there were, it was never stated.”

Mycroft started to pace back and forth the length of the room between the sofa and bookcases. His hand gripping his chin as he listened to Anthea’s progress report. 

“So we have a time scale, large public event taking place within the week. Maximum impact both casualty and press wise. They are going to want something big. Why go to all of this expense? Why spend all this time making plans if it is something we can cover up?”

“Sir, there is only one thing we've been able to uncover that seems to fit the bill. The Chelsea flower show.” 

“The security there is especially high. Her majesty is scheduled to attend.”

“It fits the bill Sir. 175,000 people visit each year. The Queen attends on opening day. We've looked sir, nothing else even stands out as a possible target. It opens in three days. Could they really be bold enough to target the Queen?”

“You are certain this is the only logical option? I apologise I do not mean do doubt you Anthea, but if we are to put all of our eggs in one basket, it must be the right one.”

“I wish it weren't the case, Sir.”

“Then we have our target. I doubt reaching her Majesty is their goal, not from what we have seen so far, but I will alert the relevant parties who can then decide their own course of action. Have we made progress with the information garnered yesterday?”

Anthea glanced again at her notes, scanning through them quickly.

“Patrick Tiernan, Irish. Confirmed IRA contacts, suspected bomb maker with ties to the Manchester and Warrington bombings in the 1990’s. Our contacts say he’s been out of the bomb making business for years, he’s an engineer by all accounts, whether he diversified after the IRA stepped back the bombing campaign or he was an engineer first isn't known. Apparently he’s still working within the field, but no one can say exactly what he’s been up to. Similar story with the doctor; Karl Williams worked in biomedical research in America. He showed promise but had a problem with the rules. When he was let go he disappeared off the radar, only reappearing now with this crew but as Hirsch said he isn't one of them only contracting, brought in by the party behind all this.”

Mycroft sat on the edge of the sofa listening to Anthea, his elbows resting on his knees and hands together beneath his nose as though praying. He tapped his index fingers to his lips as he weighed the options, absorbing everything, trying to fit the pieces together in a way that made any sense at all. They dealt in puzzles and questions every day, he had to make choices that affected a great number of people, people who would never even be aware of his existence and he did so willingly, with satisfaction and without doubt. For the first time, he was questioning himself over and over. What if he made the wrong decisions and the unthinkable happened because of it? He found himself to be less sure of his actions when the consequences of his choices could affect his family directly. He sat for several minutes, not speaking just aligning everything in his mind, waiting until he formed a coherent stream of thought.

“As the pieces fall in to place it becomes more and more apparent that we are not facing a bomb plot. The only logical conclusion with the information we have is that we are looking at plans to release some kind of biochemical weapon. Though not on a train like the attacks in Tokyo. Which, while a good thing for limiting the geographical spread, initially puts us in a position of facing an initially higher number of casualties, a bigger target like Chelsea also provides its own challenges for containment. Hirsch spoke of a “Hissy thing” a dispersal device possibly. Sarin is a distinct possibility, a dispersal device would also be appropriate for such a toxin. They would need a laboratory of some kind, we need to locate the doctor before they can unite the two halves of their plan. Our priority is to find that location. The device on its own provides little threat but there are many toxins that require little other than spillage to be highly effective. So we find that, priority one.”

“Sir, we conducted a raid during the night. Sherlock was right, they had been using a builders yard on the river. There was no sign of a lab and it had been abandoned, but it does appear to be the location for the execution of Feigler, or if not him someone has met their end there and recently. Though circumstantial the evidence does suggest they used it as a base for a while, possibly only moving on once Feigler was dead we had Hirsch in our possession. Again the location has been under suspicion for a while for having ties to the IRA which would fit with Tiernan using his contacts to secure safe locations for them. However, I can't help but think that the only connection to them is through Tiernan, it doesn't fit their usual style, and it would make sense to use all available contacts in order to execute their plans. They know we have at least some clue as to what they are up to, we can only hope we have not accelerated their plan and cause them to change their target and time scale.” 

He was shaking his head absently, his mind whirring in overdrive. Everything that came to light was disturbing to say the least but in piecing it together, it became more than the sum of its parts and in truth, that terrified Mycroft. They had to get this under control, he could not allow something like this to occur. 

“We have established whoever is behind this is indirectly targeting myself. Wishing to cause me pain and suffering, changing target will not accomplish that in the same manner. No, we continue as we are and expect that their plan will continue also. We have established that they do not react well to failure, therefore we may expect the number of casualties to rise as they proceed and react accordingly. We do however need to locate this doctor, right now that is our priority. The device is useless without its payload so we must focus on that. We must be missing something? Something vital, it seems as though we are just one puzzle piece from knowing what is happening. I do not like this Anthea, it is all striking too close to home. How was nothing known about any part of this? We work in intelligence yet we missed something as big as this? It does not tally at all.”

“Inside help, Sir?”

“It would indeed appear so, somewhere along the line someone has been helping to hide minor things from us. Things that had we seen them, would have created   
suspicion if they had then been viewed alongside each other but individually did not seem unusual enough to be reported up the chain. Check the lower level staff again, whoever was helping them couldn't help them find me directly of even identify my face, so we can assume they have never been aquatinted with myself or the offices we use. Thankfully that eliminates those closest to us, which is certainly a relief. Now is not the time to be doubting those we must rely on. We will proceed with caution and from here on out, we use only those teams whose allegiances can be assured. Have we made any progress in identifying the person behind all of this? It is most perplexing that we know nothing. We've checked the usual list? Especially those with contact to South America?”

“We've checked all the ones we can think of and all the ones anyone else can think of. Nothing.”

Anthea dropped on to the cushion next to him. Turning her head her eyes heavy with sleep but piercing all the same, she looked right at him and right through him at the same time. 

“We really need to catch a break on this one Mycroft.”

He leant back, his body sagging. In public he would never allow anyone to see such a display but he and Anthea had been through many trials and tribulations together. 

“We will, Anthea. We do not fail. All we require is a little optimism, as foreign a concept that may be for us.”

“Mycroft, I think Molly might be rubbing off on you.”

“There are definitely worse things.”

“Yes there are Mycroft, yes there are.”

Anthea patted his knee as she pushed to her feet and headed back to the desk.

“Anthea, would you care to explain what you are doing?”

“Well Sir, this would be me working.”

He rose in one fluid movement, stalking towards the desk. He reached for the Blackberry she now held, plucking it from her fingers. 

“No, this would be you, retiring for the day.”

She tried to get the phone back from him, reaching for it but he held it high above his head. 

“Just a few more phone calls. Then I'll go.”

“It may have been a while since I have had to, but I believe I can cope alone for at least a few hours.”

“Ok, ok, there's a list. Everything is on the phone, do you know where to find it? The office will call this number with updates. All the numbers you need are in the contacts, named logically so you should be fine. You know where I am if you need anything.”

“Anthea, cease and desist. Now, please go before Gregory comes looking for you, I do not wish to be chastised by our resident Detective Inspector for mistreating you.”

Anthea could hardly argue further when before she could speak she yawned, her eyes started to water as her jaw was stretched wide. 

“That would be you, proving my point. Goodnight, Anthea.” 

“Yeah I'm going, you win. But you will call if something happens? “

“Affirmative.” 

With one last nod, she spun and headed for the door. With a smile and a shake of his head, Mycroft sat at his desk. 

“Toby my boy, it looks like we are going to have a busy day.”

\-----(ooo)-----

As Anthea pushed the bedroom door open, in the light from the hall she saw Greg face down, diagonally across the bed and still fully dressed. She rolled her eyes but grinned despite the yawn that threatened to break free. Closing the door quietly she moved to the bed. At least he didn't have his shoes on, she thought as she grasped the toes of both of his socks and pulled them from his feet. He twitched as the fabric slid across his soles.

“Tickles.”

“Wouldn't have if you'd done it yourself, so don't complain.”

He grumbled again when she devilishly ran her nail the length of his foot, making him jump and kick his legs, but with his head buried in the duvet she couldn't hear him. Still it made her smile even as she could feel the pressure of sleep creeping in fast. Pushing at his hips she got him to turn over, quickly working at the buttons of his jeans.

“If you're trying to get into my pants love, all you have to do is say.”

“And whose ego is going to be more bruised when we both fall asleep, hmm?”

“Good point, help me up.”

Anthea took the hands he held out and dragged him to sit at the edge of the bed. Bracing her feet on top of his, she leant back to pull him to his feet with a grunt. Quickly they shed the remainder of their clothes, leaving them in piles on the floor. Not really any need to worry about it when there were as many clothes in the wardrobe at Mycroft and Molly’s as there were at home. Sighing, Greg collapsed once more onto the bed, landing with his head on the pillows. Anthea stood watching him, apparently for a bit too long when he flopped on to his back to peer at her. 

“You suddenly awake now?”

“Nope, just enjoying the view.”

“Woman, get over here! We don't have enough time to sleep before you'll be waking me up again as it is.”

Anthea climbed over Greg and settled in next to him on her side. She shimmied until she was tucked close, reaching back for his arm to pull it across her waist, forcing him to shuffle onto his side so he was spooned behind her. 

“Happy now? Can we sleep?”

Reaching her hand up she grabbed the corner of the pillow just under her head and pulled to get it comfortable. As Greg's head slid off the back of it he didn't say anything, he was well used to Anthea's restlessness before she went to sleep. 

“Go to sleep, they'll wake us if there’s any news.”

Greg felt as Anthea went limp, humming under her breath as she slipped into the drop he'd known was coming. Content that now she was asleep she would stay that way for the next several hours, he allowed himself to relax and with the comforting feeling of the woman he loved in his arms, he put aside the questions that ran through his mind and joined her in unconsciousness.

\-----(ooo)-----

 

When Molly finally made it down the stairs, the study door was closed and she could hear the rumble of Mycroft's voice inside. Not wanting to disturb him she headed straight for the kitchen. As she suspected there were no signs that Mycroft had thought to get breakfast or even get himself some tea before locking himself away. However, the sink was stacked high with coffee cups and the bin held several used coffee ground filled filters. It had indeed been a long night for Anthea and Greg. By the time this was over and she had complete faith that it would end in their favour, Molly would have a lot of thank you’s to make, she’d just have to work out how best to do that. At least breakfast was easily rectified, quickly she brewed a pot of tea and sliced a loaf of bread to make inch thick “door stopper” slices as her dad used to say. She slid them under the grill and watched them turn golden brown, flipping them before they could burn. Pulling the butter dish from the cupboard she slathered it on the hot toast. Not the healthiest option, but toast this good demanded the real thing. Deciding against taking a tray, Molly hooked two china mugs on her left hand then used that hand to carry the plate of toast, picking up the teapot with her right, she headed to Mycroft. When she reached the door she realised her mistake, two hands full and a closed door? She weighed her options, she could use her foot but with her balance there was no guarantee she wouldn't end up on her ass covered in boiling tea. Go get a tray? She was too stubborn for that. Sighing she kicked at the door, without shoes it was a feeble sound at best, but hopefully it would catch Mycroft's attention. She waited for a moment before starting to contemplate a new plan when the door opened, a confused Mycroft standing on the other side.

“Molly?”

She held up the plate and teapot, showing him her offerings.

“No hands.”

He stepped back from the doorway to allow Molly to pass, then followed closely at her heels. Pressing against her and dropping a kiss to her crown as he reached around her to take a piece of toast from the plate when she placed everything on his desk. He stayed close as she turned to face him.

“How we doing?”

“We are making progress. We have much to do, but we now find ourselves with avenues to take.”

“Good, now are you going into the office today, or are you staying here and keeping me company while you work?”

“Do not pout Molly dearest, there is no need. I am going to stay at home, there is nothing I cannot do from here. Also, I find the thought of leaving you alone abhorrent, even considering Anthea and Greg are to be found upstairs.”

Molly reached a hand to his cheek and stroked gently whilst looking into his eyes. He was still relatively new to sharing his emotions freely, every day he got better and better and it made her heart swell just that little bit more. 

“Then stay, what's the plan?”

“When my brother and John emerge, they will be investigating the remaining addresses not already surveilled and dismissed. Everything else is being taken care of.”

“Do you think he’ll be alright?”

“John would accept nothing but.”

“And we are both extremely grateful for that.”

“Yes my heart, we are.”

Mycroft's face was relaxed and open and there was nothing else Molly could do but reach for his neck and pull his head down to hers and kiss him. Quick, full of emotion and threatening to overwhelm as always. Forehead to forehead Molly took a deep breath. 

“Ok you eat breakfast, I'm going to keep myself busy, shout if you need anything. I’ll be back later to check on you and I'll take Toby with me.”

“Yes, that would probably be for the best, he does seem to have a penchant for sitting in the middle of the desk on top of my papers.”

“Hmm and you don't have the heart to move him when he does. Right I'm going, eat your breakfast before it goes cold.”

“You brought enough for two, clearly intending to join me. Why change your mind now?”

Stepping sideways carefully she leant down to where Toby wound himself around their legs, hooking her arm under Toby's stomach she hoisted him into her arms and cuddled him close while he nuzzled under her chin. 

“Because it won't just be breakfast. John and Sherlock will be down soon and will come looking for you. It would be like being caught by the kids and I definitely don't need that.”

With raised eyebrows and regretful eyes he nodded his head.

“It is a very good thing that one of us manages to keep thinking. Though I cannot help but think I must be doing something incorrectly if you are remaining capable of thought.”

Trust me honey, you do everything right.”

Molly grinned and walked to the door, turning at the last minute she gave him a wink.

“Everything!”

\-----(ooo)-----

 

Sherlock stormed from the second building on their list. His coat billowing, collar up to ward off the cold, face contorted an annoyance and anger. John followed close behind him trying to watch both Sherlock, and their surroundings, falling back on his army training; his hand itching to hold his gun in readiness for whatever might come at them. He paced agitatedly on the pavement, furiously rubbed his hands in his hair and as soon as John saw that he knew there was an almighty tantrum sure to follow. 

“Pointless, John. There is nothing here. We are chasing ghosts! They haven't been here in days and what they leave is of no use to me. How can they leave nothing of importance, John? How can they disappear, hiding their trail the point that even I cannot follow them? This is not acceptable, John. Not acceptable at all! ”

He was in full over-stimulated Sherlock mode now, his eyes manic in their focus. John was going to have to act quickly if he was going to nip the episode in the bud. He needed to redirect Sherlock’s attention and quickly. 

“Sherlock, stop. Calm down, we've still got two more to check. The two you wanted to save until last. We always knew that there wouldn't be much, you’ll find what we need. I know you will, you always do. So pick, where are we going now? Warehouse or town house? The town house is closer to where we are now if that makes a difference. You'll need to flag a taxi down either way because they never stop for me.”

John watched as Sherlock started contemplate their next course of action, relieved to have distracted him. Maybe just enough to at least postpone the meltdown that would come if he didn’t find anything at the next two locations. But that wouldn't happen, there would be something, John was sure of it. 

“John, do come along. We don't have time for you to daydream. The game continues, John and we will not be left behind.”

Placing his hand in the small of John’s back and pushed slightly, manoeuvring him to the kerb. He effortlessly flagged down a taxi and held the door for John as he jumped inside, quickly being followed by Sherlock. John listened as he gave the address for the warehouse. Well at least now he knew where they were going. 

“Sherlock, so you think we should have called for one of Mycroft's cars. Especially now, even if we did have to wait for it to arrive?”

“It's doesn't matter he is monitoring us, obviously John.”

“Sorry, yes. Should have thought about that.”

“No need to be sorry, now we might as well get comfortable, it may take a while to reach the warehouse in this traffic.”

Sherlock shuffled himself a little closer to John, still fidgety but he knew what to do about that. Taking Sherlock’s hand he squeezed it as they stared out of the windows watching London pass by.

\-----(ooo)-----

 

Molly stayed away from the study for several hours. She’d heard John and Sherlock come down, Sherlock calling for John to hurry up they’d already wasted too much   
time. They’d talked to Mycroft and then left the house in a flurry of flapping coats and shouts for Sherlock to wait for John. Now the house was quiet, Greg and Anthea were still asleep upstairs and she was at a loss as to what to do next. Without meaning to, she kept gravitating towards Mycroft, but she was determined to let him work. After walking past the study a fourth time she gave up and pushed the door open and peered into the room. Mycroft had his shirt sleeves rolled back and his waistcoat unbuttoned. She wasn't quite sure why he needed to wear it in the house but she appreciated the image. He had his reading glasses perched on his nose, as far as she knew he didn't wear them outside of his office or their home but seeing him in them definitely affected her. When she didn't speak he looked up from the desk, peering over the rims of those very glasses that made her a little weak at the knees. 

“Become bored with pacing the hall dearest?”

“You could have called when you heard me!”

“I knew you would visit on your own soon enough.”

“Smart Alec, can I stay in here with you for a bit? I'm at a bit of a loose end out here on my own.”

“Of course, what would you like to do?”

“I'm just going to sit and read for a bit, I'll go if you need to make a call.”

“Molly come in, close the door, get a book and get comfortable."

She smiled and shut the door before walking to the book cases. Mycroft watched her every move as she crouched to look at the bottom shelves. She pulled out a dog-eared favourite and took it to settle in Mycroft's comfy chair, tucking her feet beneath her. She opened the book and tried to lose herself in the pages. ’It is a truth universally acknowledged..... 

Mycroft watched quietly from his desk as Molly made herself comfortable, smiling when she selected his chair and let her head rest in the corner of the winged back. Satisfied she was content he returned to the paperwork that needed his attention. 

 

\-----(ooo)-----

As they drew near their destination, John shook their joined hands to get Sherlock to look at him. 

“Sherlock, promise me when we get there, if there are people inside you won't go charging in. Actually either way don't go charging in.”

As John spoke, Sherlock scoffed, wrinkling his nose as he focused his attention on the smaller man by his side.

“Don't look at me like that Sherlock, we’re nearly there and I need you to be careful ok?”

“I am not oblivious, John. I am aware what is as stake. I was listening to Mycroft this morning when he delivered his progress report.”

“I know. I just worry about you. Ok?”

“I will not put myself in unnecessary danger. Will that suffice?”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome. Now are you ready? We have arrived.”

As the taxi slowed and finally stopped not far from the warehouse, Sherlock exited quickly but waited for John as he paid and stepped from the cab. They looked at each other and waited for the taxi to pull away. Glancing around, John withdrew his gun from the waistband of his jeans and stepped ahead of Sherlock, warning him with his eyes to stay behind him until he gave the all clear. There were no windows for them to look through to get a clear visual of the inside but the area was quiet enough for them to listen for sounds of movement coming from the building. They held still for several minutes but could hear nothing but the faint sounds of air conditioning units, which of itself was not a sound to be expected in this kind of industrial area, but it was not enough to cause alarm. John cocked his head to Sherlock and jutted his chin towards the door. They took positions either side of the main door, silently communicating with looks and hand gestures. At John’s instruction Sherlock took hold of the handle of the large sliding door and on the count of three slid it open. John entered; gun drawn searching for any target that might present itself. There was no movement and no one made to come at them.

“Clear, Sherlock. Come on in, but be careful.”

Sherlock stepped around the door and glanced at John asking permission to proceed. Waiting until John nodded for him to go ahead.  
The warehouse was bare save for a large frosted plastic tent like structure in the middle of the room. It was lit from the inside allowing Sherlock to identify what appeared to be a mobile laboratory an inflatable, igloo like affair. He walked cautiously towards it, trusting that John would cover him if it was required. He could see the outline of work benches and familiar instruments similar to those located in Molly's lab at St Barts. There was no sign of any people but there were large air circulation and scrubbing machines to one side accounting for the noise they had heard from outside. As he reached the entrance he turned to check on John before entering then stepped inside.

“John, get Mycroft on the phone immediately.”


	15. Face your fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the case. The threat is real and calling, after everything they have been through, will they be able to foil the plot before unknown terror can be unleashed on the public? There is still family focus and allowing everyone to shine at what they do. 
> 
> Obviously I don't own any of the characters, I just like to borrow them and have my wicked way with them. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads this, whether you comment or not everything is greatly appreciated. To those of you who have been with me from the beginning, thank you. To those of you arriving welcome and I hope you stick around. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always big shout out to my Gumbie, MyCitrusPocket. I couldn't do anything without her. Thank you for holding my hand when I'm having a breakdown because I don't know what I'm doing.

Mycroft and Molly sat in comfortable silence for almost an hour before they were interrupted. Molly glanced up when the phone rang, she closed her book and moved to stand looking to Mycroft for instructions.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, no. It’s John, stay.”

Mycroft answered and put John directly on speaker phone, so he could continue with the paperwork that had been dominating his time.

“John, you have news?”

“Mycroft, Sherlock needs to speak to you. We’re at the warehouse from the list of addresses, we found the lab and a whole lot more.”

In the background Sherlock could be heard shouting to John, then an unusual rustling noise before the sound changed and they too had been placed on loudspeaker. Molly settled back in the chair, listening to what news they had.

\-----(ooo)-----

Sherlock stood in the centre of the tent for a moment, pausing before walking a circuit carefully around the lab. John watched as his eyes scanned every surface collecting each piece of data, putting the pieces together into coherent theories. Coming back to the place he had started and making one circular turn, he paused for a moment preparing his observations to relay them to Mycroft. John stepped further inside the tent and closer to Sherlock. He held the phone out in front of him and waited for the sign Sherlock was ready to begin.

“Loudspeaker?”

John nodded once as his eyes slid to take in the bodies on the floor. As far as he could tell there were three men in white coats, sprawled on the plastic covered concrete floor. Each of them dead, though he didn't know how long they had been like that, couldn’t even hazard a guess until Sherlock called him to look. He presumed only three, one face down in front of Sherlock, around a work counter to the left he could see a pair of feet indicating a second and behind Sherlock there appeared to be the head of a third. He had no doubt Sherlock would call him to look at them as soon as he was ready. There was no point pushing the issue, they were dead and not going anywhere.

“Mycroft, they are no longer here. However, I do not believe we were far behind. We have three dead men, technicians for the most part. John I need to see, help me turn this one.”

Sherlock nudged the corpse at his feet with his toe. John handed Sherlock a pair of purple latex gloves, waiting until he put them on before nodding that he would help move the body. Together they rolled the brunette man carefully on to his back.

“We found our doctor. Though I doubt he is going to do much speaking.”

\-----(ooo)-----

Mycroft had ceased to divide his attention between paperwork and John as soon as he heard that they had located the laboratory. Now he concentrated entirely on the voices on the phone. The familiar mixed feelings of excitement and fear surging inside him. His thrill he felt at the chase so like Sherlock’s, even if he was better able to internalise the emotions. This was progress, if they didn’t have the terrorists, because there was nothing else they could be called at this point, at least they had a chance to gather information that would aid them. They were closing in at last.

“Sherlock what do you observe? I need you to be my eyes brother, tell me what you see.”

With Mycroft’s encouragement Sherlock began his monologue, the words flowing from him in a constant stream of consciousness. He provided the most pertinent information in the most concise manner possible. True communication between two brains that worked in extremely similar ways.

\-----(ooo)-----

As usual John watched Sherlock with complete devotion; his eyes following him around the small space. Sherlock practically skipped over the bodies on the floor as he described to Mycroft the scene that lay before them.

“There are no samples of any possible chemical weapon left here and definitely no devices. However, there appears to have been an insulated carrier recently removed from one of the benches. Whether the case contained completed devices or just the chemicals, is speculation. It does seem more likely though, that they were the completed article. Why else would Hirsch's team kill the technicians if they didn't have the units prepared for use? You don't kill people you still require something from. Standard lab equipment, expensive, the purchase of which should be traceable not the largest market to the public so abnormal purchases should stand out. The room is in good order; there are no broken beakers or equipment littering the floor, nothing appears to be out of place, except for the space indicating the missing carrier. It is strange there are no computers here, Mycroft. Not that they are missing, but that they were not here in the first place. Surely that is highly irregular? There must be one somewhere, you cannot hope to complete such complicated work without access to a computer of some kind. There are papers scattered across the central work surface, all of the machines are spread around the perimeter of the room. Mycroft, does the information we have on the doctor suggest he was sufficiently intelligent to undertake this work without the aid of a computer?”

Sherlock waited in his version of patience. His eyes never stopping as they mapped the room, it was as though John could see the very ideas forming in his head. Brief seconds of his eyes narrowing or his eyebrows twitching as he contemplated new ideas, some sticking and some being dismissed immediately gave him snapshots into that magnificent brain.

“The doctor certainly showed the potential for such an undertaking but it is highly unlikely that he does not have some method of making his notes. Even if he is unable to publish his research and work he is going to want to note it. If there is no sign of any such method at the location we are likely to find it where they have been staying. It cannot be too far from where you currently stand. We will have team scour the area. Do continue Sherlock, please.”

“Medical grade air scrubbers and ventilation, we can assume whatever they were working on was contagious but they clearly expected it to be a stable compound as there are no hazardous materials suits of any kind in the vicinity. Why did the men not leave when they had the chance? Dates and notes on papers around the lab are made in a steady hand, indicating that they were well enough to be to continuing to work as late as this morning. There does not appear to have been any additional injuries to them, no stab wounds or bullet wounds to indicate it was not whatever they were working on that killed them. They appear to have either fallen where they stood, or were struck by the effects of their project quickly leaving them too weak to escape. They were not held here, there are no means by which that could happen. Death was quick whatever the means, without diagnostic equipment I doubt we will be able to identify it. Whatever it is it turns the skin purple. John, I need you to look at this, tell me what you see.”

Moving closer to Sherlock he knelt by the body of Dr Williams. He took a moment to compose himself and check his initial assessment before he began.

\-----(ooo)-----

Molly found herself on her feet and moving towards the phone quickly as John spoke. Her brain made the immediate switch from home Molly to Pathologist Molly. This was what she did, diagnosing illnesses, cause of death and identifying pathogens was what she had trained for, this was part of who she was. This was her opportunity to contribute and she would do everything within her power to help. Mycroft looked at her, interest and confusion on his face. He saw the subtle shift into her professional mindset. She looked at him with unfocussed eyes as a look of deep thought settled in the lines of her face. There was intrigue there but it was accompanied by a hint of fear as she listened to what was being relayed through the phone. With all of that skittering across her face, Mycroft felt his own unease grow, starting to eat at his stomach.

“Sherlock, stop! John, say that again! Tell me exactly what you see. I need the details of the bodies not the room. All the details John, you know what I need. Diagnose this with me.”

\-----(ooo)-----

John and Sherlock both heard the strength and demand in Molly’s voice. Without hesitation Sherlock indicated for John to continue. He was the medical professional; he could convey the information through the phone in a concise manner whilst providing the most significant details. He was able to see through the inconsequential things and pinpoint exactly what Molly needed to know. So he didn’t argue, just stepped slightly back to allow John the room he needed to do as she requested. This was his turn to watch John work. He walked the same path Sherlock had around the lab. He looked only at the bodies, not the rest of the room because that was Sherlock’s territory. This was about two doctors working together to diagnose an illness or a cause. They were looking for completely different things to those that he searched for when he looked. John crouched by each one in turn catalogue the details, comparing each in turn. Each symptom no matter how small could help lead them in the correct direction.

“Ok Molly, here we go. More details this time. The bodies are still warm so they haven’t been dead long. Without a liver temp I can’t be much more specific. We’ve got blue purple skin and lips, so deoxygenating properties of whatever it is, could be affecting the heart or lungs. Body appears otherwise healthy no sores, no wounds. All show signs of blood in the lungs, bloody foam around the mouth and blood spatter on surfaces around the bodies suggests they were coughing it up, so easy to assume their lungs were compromised. Two of them were bleeding from the nose at time of death. All are dehydrated, the bodies have not been here long but they are still showing signs of having had elevated temperatures at time of death, each being drenched in sweat which supports the temperature idea.”

 

\----- (ooo)-----

Molly paced back and forth, her mind spinning as the information John provided solidified in her mind. She knew that having John there to tell her these things was the next best thing to actually being there herself. Molly knows he’s giving her the most thorough description he can and as quickly and accurately as he can, as soon as he sees he passes the observations to her. She is trying to absorb everything, working through all the things she has ever read and studied, all the information in her head, trying to match what John is describing to all the highly contagious diseases or chemical weapons she knows. Those symptoms, it’s right there in her mind and she’s scrambling to put it together. The pieces not yet fully formed but she knows what she needs to do. Spinning towards Mycroft and the phone, terror in her eyes and lacing her voice she shouted into the phone.

“Sherlock John, oh god get out, get out now!”

The look in Molly’s eyes compounds the fear in his core. Her face is ashen and her eyes panicked when she focus’ her attention on him. She halted directly in front of his desk then spun around and ran for the bookshelf that he knows contains her medical texts.

Molly growled in frustration tearing books from the shelves, searching for the one she knows is there. She wrapped her hand around the thick spine of the one she needs, she ran back to the desk and threw down the heavy book on the surface so that it landed with a bang, Molly went straight for the index and then to the page she feared would provide an answer to her questions, with her finger running down the page, she scanned quickly through the entries. As soon as she found what she was looking for her heart lurched and suddenly everything dropped into place, the pieces fit and the picture they created petrified her.

“Mycroft we need doctors the best you have and quarantine, containment teams, a lab. You must have a contingency plan for something like this. Mycroft, make the call, put it into action now. I’m going to need a lab, Mycroft you have to take me to one. If I can’t go to mine at St Barts, I need one of yours. I know you must have one somewhere I can use that’s safe. Spanish flu, Mycroft. It has all the markings of Spanish flu. But there’s something not quite right, the doctor shouldn’t be dead none of them should be, even if exposed it shouldn’t work this quickly. They’ve done something to it My, changed it somehow. Made it worse, made it progress much quicker than it should. We have to make sure John and Sherlock are safe and we have to make sure now.”

 

\------(ooo)-----

 

At Molly’s frantic words John’s eyes quickly found Sherlock’s, he reached for his arm grasping a handful of his coat and pulling him into motion, together they sprinted for the exit. 

They ran until they reached the main door where John stopped and held fast to Sherlock, pulling him up as well. Panting, John braced his hands against his knees and leant forwards slightly.

“Stop Sherlock, we can’t leave here. If we’ve been exposed we can’t risk spreading it to anyone. We have to wait for them to get to us.”

“John?”

“Sherlock?”

“I do not have adequate information to completely understand why we are currently facing. I am concerned and I do not fully understand why, I find myself unsure.”

“Molly just made a tentative identification of what caused those men to die. It can’t be good Sherlock and we’ve been exposed, Molly wouldn’t sound like that or tell us to get out if it was nothing. But I don’t know what it is just yet. For Molly to react like that it can’t be good. If she’s scared so am I. I should have known better! I fucking knew they’d been playing with chemical weapons or disease and I just let us walk in there. Even with the bodies on the floor, I still let us stay. Fuck Sherlock. I allowed you to come into extended contact with something that could do to us what it has done to the men in there. And they were the ones working on it. They should have been protected; they should have made sure they were safe. If the men creating whatever it is weren’t safe, what chance do we have?”

“We have Mycroft and Molly. That is the chance we have. There is no guarantee we have been affected, if we are we will have the best care available. I was very impressed with your deductions in there, John.”

“Well, I’ve learnt from the best, haven’t I?”

Sherlock moved close to John and pulled him to his chest. He wasn’t sure who he meant to comfort, but suspected it he did it to bolster them both. He tucked his doctor close, trying to calm his brain. He needed more information if he was going to work through this, but he wouldn’t be able to get that information until Mycroft was here. He felt a pang in his chest, something that he last recalled experiencing clearly as a child. It was a desire for comfort, not just from John but from his brother. If Mycroft said he would be ok, then it was true he would be. Through all of his drug fuelled relapses and over doses over the years, there was always that small child inside of him that called for Mycroft when he was scared. He had never deliberately set out to overdose. He just wanted to escape when the things inside his head got too much. When it happened and he was so altered, so fractured he couldn’t control anything around him, no matter what his mouth shouted at his brother, his brain screamed for him to help him and tell him it was going to be alright. Even now as a sober adult, his fear had that voice shouting loudly in his head. He knew it would not take long for teams to reach them, he just needed to hold them together until Mycroft arrived to make things better.

They had forgotten about the phone John still clutched in his hand, but they both heard Molly’s voice. It was muffled somewhat by John’s palm but they heard her all the same. To Sherlock it washed over him with a certain warmth he couldn’t quite place, but he would have to say, if John had pressed him for it that it was reassurance. His mind snorted at him, such a useless feeling but one he felt all the same.

“Sherlock, John, stay where you are. We’re coming to get you.”

 

\-----(ooo)-----

 

Molly had a death grip on Mycroft's arm, her fingers digging into his flesh through his shirt sleeve. She was speaking but Mycroft wasn't sure if she was speaking to him or to herself.

“It shouldn't be possible, the only people who should have it are the Americans, hidden in a lab somewhere. There shouldn't be live virus, not outside containment, in a research facility, I don't even know which one is working on it. I didn't keep track after we did the initial research at St Barts.”

Mycroft let Molly speak, relatively sure that this time she was speaking to herself. He didn’t move, needing her contact as much as she needed his. He did however start making phone calls with his free hand. Putting into motion the actions she demanded. She was correct, there were indeed plans in place to tackle such an event. But he had never considered that he would ever have to activate it for something like this. While he was talking he heard John’s strained voice come over the speakers on his desk. He could hear the stress in his voice but admired the strength the doctor demonstrated amidst the current crisis. He could never have hoped for a better partner for his brother.

“Molly, what are we looking at?”

“It's not confirmed obviously, but everything I've heard sounds like Spanish flu. Mycroft is sending teams to get you, we need to get you in quarantine John, just in case. We should be there at the same time, were leaving as soon as we can. Don't go near that tent again John, not for anything! Do you hear me? Do not expose yourselves any more. We’ll be there as soon as we can. All of us.”

Molly released Mycroft’s arm, knowing by the stiffness and pain in her hands that there would be dark bruises left behind in their wake. Mycroft hadn’t made a sound of protest but she knew it must have hurt. She patted his arm to get his attention, not wanting to speak and interrupt his giving of orders to whoever he had on the phone. His tone was strained and clipped, his economy with words telling her everything she needed to know about his state of mind, but they had more things to worry about at the moment. When he turned to look at her while he continued to talk she lowered her voice.

“I’m going to get Anthea and Greg, we need them.”

He nodded in response, breaking away from the phone for a moment.

“Tell Anthea, code 32. Advise Greg we will need him to liaise with his Chief Officer of Police at the scene, tell him he now has the clearance required and is our representative. The officials that arrive will be aware of his position and will consult with him on an equal field. We will take what we need and leave, the police will take over from there along with the necessary units from other departments. We must utilise them to contain this while we continue with the wider target. Now go Molly, time is of the essence.”

 

Molly ran from the room, taking the stairs two at a time she headed straight for their bedroom. She barged straight into the room throwing the door open with force it smashed back against the wall, her hand shot for the light switch immediately illuminating the room.

“Quick, get up we've got a problem. Sherlock and John found the lab, they've been exposed to Spanish flu or something similar. We need to go! Anthea, code 32! I’m guessing you know what that means.”

They both shot from the bed, instantly awake and aware in a way only people who dealt with crises were able. Gone were the people who couldn’t function in a morning without coffee, completely replaced by two trained professionals. There was no time for modesty, they dove for clothes pulling them on quickly. Anthea firing questions at Molly.

“Containment, response teams, liaisons with all relevant government and emergency services?”

“My is on the phone to them now, teams already on the move for containment. Greg, we need you to be our liaison, Mycroft says you have the clearance and everyone there will be aware so no problems there, you’re our representative there, no questions. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

 

\-----(ooo)-----

They flew through the city, the four of them in the back of one of Mycroft’s signature black cars. She couldn’t help but remember the last time she had been bundled into the back of one of them and she felt her anxiety kick up a notch, escalating the dread that was already settled deep in her stomach. The interior of the car was filled with sound; around her all three of them were on the phone, their voices melding into one frantic sound as they each dealt with their assigned tasks. Molly stared out of the window, letting the noise surround her as she delved into her head working through what she knew but she was left with more questions than answers. It was increasingly frustrating she just needed to be able to work. Her hands itched to work, to be useful. This was something she could help with, she just needed to get Mycroft to override his desire to keep her safe. She was still working out how to manage that when they arrived at the warehouse. Already the area was teeming with movement, other vehicles arriving continuously. It seemed that everyone was invited to this party. Seeing it all like this made everything that much bigger. Sequestered in the house, under the guard of her family, Molly had not quite realised the far reaching arms of their situation. It had seemed so insular, them against the world. Rationally she knew that there were teams working twenty four hours a day supporting them but it had seemed so abstract. With the scene before them she couldn’t fail to recognise it now.

They left the car quickly, Anthea and Greg moving towards a group of suited and uniformed officials immediately, ready to fulfil their roles. Mycroft had turned to her his eyes pleading with her to stay, apologising for leaving and asking her to remain safe. With a backwards glance he too joined the melee of people, trying to control and understand what was happening. She had been left with three agents for guards while the others had fanned out to do their jobs. She was somewhat at a loose end until Mycroft allowed her close or she managed to convince him that she had a place in the middle of it all. She needed to be useful and this was her opportunity if she could just get him to approve. Molly stood with her back to the tape that surrounded the area, fifty feet from the warehouse, separated from the scene in front of her. Mycroft had managed to have the area cleared of the public quickly. Through whatever means Mycroft had in place to deal with similar situations, if there could truly be such a thing. She didn’t even want to know what he’d had to do to secure the area and make sure they had everyone moved to a controlled location, just in case any of them had been exposed. What they’d told people to get them to cooperate she didn’t really care, just so long as they were kept from transmitting anything to the outside world.

Mycroft was fighting her request, was adamantly denying her demands to get closer to the situation. He kept her on the outskirts as far from the tent as possible without actually bundling her back into the car and having them take her home. Molly suspected, had there been anyone available to be with her there, he would have done just that. She knew he didn’t doubt her abilities in the slightest, it was just his protective nature warring with the professional man in control. She was giving him space, she knew constantly pushing at him would do her no good, he’d dig his heels in and that would be the end of it. So she stood at the perimeter, arms hugged around her as she watched the teams work. People in various levels of hazmat suits strolled through the area. Some carried containment bags filled with equipment taken from inside. She watched three body bags being removed from the warehouse and taken away under strict conditions to god knows where.

She looked on as Sherlock and John watched each other, they stood apart, separated by necessity and each is surrounded by their own team of hazmat suited technicians, but they never take their eyes off the other. Her heart was breaking, Sherlock looked so lost and she could see as John tried to ground him even though he wasn’t allowed to touch him. She saw the fear in both of them, and it only made hers grow. She could see John questioning each of the men around him trying to find out as much as he could and the scariest thing of all was that Sherlock was subdued and silent. She had never seen him like that and she would pay never to have to see it again. She couldn’t stand still any longer, Mycroft stood to one side, his eyes missing nothing, when they reached her he stopped and met her gaze. Molly took that as an invitation and started to move towards him but a hand landed on her arm. She jumped at the contact swinging round, only relaxing slightly when it was one of her guards and he immediately releasing her when he saw the look on her face. She pointed at Mycroft and he looked over, waiting until he nodded before moving out of her way. With her path now clear she hurried to stand in front of him.

 

“I need a hazmat suit, I need to get in there. I'm a pathologist Mycroft, this is what I do. I'm good, you know I am. Let me do it, let me be the best I can be now. This is our family My, I can’t stand on the edges and watch the rest of you protect it while I sit doing nothing. Get me a lab, let me prepare just in case. If we don't stop them this might be our only chance to learn what we’re up against. It takes months to create vaccines for these things but if I can make a positive identification of what exactly it is, maybe there is already something we can work with. Please let me feel useful.”

She couldn't voice the terrible weight in her chest that she needed to prepare for the possibility of Sherlock or John getting sick. That the doctor himself was dead suggested that there was something different about the virus. He should have known to protect himself. But he was dead, his team too. Molly had to push aside the terror that threatened to bubble free. She didn't have time for that now, she had work to do.

“If I let you do this. If I fight every instinct I have to keep you safe. Promise me you will be careful.”

“You know I will My, this is what I was trained to do. Where can I get a suit?”

He still held a look of apprehension on his face, but true to his word he guided her towards the makeshift decontamination tent set up to one side. Instead of taking her through the door he dragged her around the side of the temporary structure, the noise of their own air scrubbers stopping any sound travelling to other people’s ears. Glancing quickly around, he pulled her into his arms and placed his lips close to her ear. Pitched low and gravelly he spoke.

“I love you, please for all our sakes, be careful. I do not think I could cope if you had to be quarantined as well. I would not do well, were you injured. I would never forgive myself.” *weep*

“I’ll be careful, I’ll follow procedure. I won’t do anything stupid, but I will make sure it’s done correctly and to our standards.”

“I apologise if my actions led you to believe you were not useful. That was never my intention.”

“I know, I just needed you to know how I feel. It’s not me being angry, ok? And I’m not blaming you. Right now we both have things to do. Don’t leave without letting me know? I know you’ll be going with Sherlock and John when they go, just make sure someone tells me?”

“Of course.”

He nodded briefly then sealed his mouth to hers before quickly pulling back.

“Even after I leave, Anthea and Greg will still be here, if you need anything go to them or call me. I will always answer. I have a considerable number of our people, trusted people amongst the strangers who will monitor you and keep you safe. I do not like that we are exposed but I can see no other option at this time. When you are ready to join us, tell Anthea and she will make sure you are delivered to my location.”

“Thank you, now go. We have work to do.”

Before he turned, his face settled into his public mask. Molly couldn’t help worrying as Mycroft looked so much older with the strain that settled with it, deepening the lines on his face and making him looked drawn and pinched. She shook herself to clear her head; she needed to be focussed and on the ball for this. Straightening her spine and settling her resolve she walked round to the front of the tent, identifying herself and calling for someone to get her a suit.


	16. The Distance Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly suits up. Greg and Anthea control the scene. John and Sherlock are moved to quarantine. Mycroft as always does what is required of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always many many thanks for taking the time to read, leave kudos and comments on this. It is greatly appreciated and makes me grin!
> 
> MyCitrusPocket as always gets my love for keeping me sane and dealing with my complete inability to use punctuation when I should and basically being the best beta/editor/awesome Gumbie there could possibly be.

Molly, finally suited and protected, began to walk the scene. She needed to know what equipment they’d had available to them, it might help her understand what they had been trying to do. Anything they found now might help them in the long run, they may never have a chance like this again. Although the bodies have been removed, she could still see where they had been so she skirted around the spaces on the floor. She noted the blood droplets John had mentioned, indeed indicating the man who had lain here had either been breathing with great difficulty or coughing as his lungs filled. Around the bench still lay a pool of blood, almost back in appearance; it was the only evidence of the tech who had died lying face down as his nose bled. She worked around the other suited people who, while looking at her with questioning eyes, did not ask who she was. They left her to her own work, not quite sure where she stood with regards to seniority. There are papers strewn around on work tops and she could see equations and notes in scratchy handwriting. She motioned to one of the techs documenting the evidence. 

When all of this is catalogued and securely packed, I need you to tell your boss to have it delivered to Anthea or Greg Lestrade for transport. They will know who you are talking about.” 

With a nod he began to photograph the things she pointed at, calling for another of his colleagues to move them to the transport containers. Molly continued to walk the lab, asking if she was ok to move things and getting the ok she started to go through more piles of paper. Her movement was somewhat restricted by the suit, but it wasn’t the first time she'd worn one, so she had some experience in dealing with the dexterity issues. When she lifted a particularly large stack of papers, she heard was a muffled clunk as something solid hit the desk. Looking down Molly saw a digital voice recorder. She was careful, allowing for clumsy fingers as a result of the several layers of gloves she wore, but she managed to hit the play button on the last file. An American voice rose into the air. 

 

“The virus is unstable, had we more time we could have perfected it but we are fast approaching the delivery date and have no option but to use it as it is.”

Molly stopped the playback. That could only have been the scientist, a certain amount of relief shot through her. They may just have found the one thing that could speed up her process. Who knew what that tape held? As soon as she was out of the suit she’d call Mycroft, he said he’d always answer the phone and she was pretty sure he'd want to hear about this development. She wasn't quite sure where the lab she'd be using was, but she trusted that there would be one and that it would be ready for her to use. She did one last sweep of the lab, content she’d seen what machines they had and would be able to work out what they had been doing here.

\-----(000)-----

Once they had been given their own hazmat suits to wear and walked through decontamination to clean the exteriors; they were taken to a non-descript van and placed inside. Without windows John didn’t know where in the city they travelled and once they stopped, he had no idea where they were. Stepping from the dim light of the van they emerged into a courtyard. John had to turn his whole body to look around them, his vision severely impaired by the heavy orange hood and plastic visor. The shadows fell heavy against the walls of the tall building that surrounded the space, the brightness not reaching the base where they stood. As though the space itself rejected the sun’s attempt to penetrate the oppressive gloom. His heartbeat accelerated and his breathing became laboured as he fought back the panic that began to take over. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as everything started to close in around him. Just as his survival instinct threatened to take over, he felt pressure through the suit at his elbow and turned, having to tilt backwards to look up at Sherlock, similarly dressed in his own orange suit. Clumsily he took John by the shoulders coping with the added bulk of the suits and loss of sensitivity because of the gloves but he shook him to pull his attention firmly to him. Once he was sure he had John’s attention he used one hand to push at the top of the visor so that he could see his face inside. 

 

“John, you are fine. Look only at me. Breathe, we’ll be out of these suits soon enough. You have plenty of air, just relax. You feel the need to know where we are? Westminster. Soon to be below it I would assume.”

As soon as Sherlock’s voice broke through the pounding in his ears, he felt his panic receding to a manageable level. He steadied his breathing, using Sherlock’s face as an anchor. Very aware they were surrounded by people they didn’t know and just hoping that Mycroft was right in trusting then. He didn’t want to lose himself here, Sherlock was used to the occasional episodes that still plagued John, but he’d be damned if he’d have one in view of others.

“Thanks Sherlock, I almost lost it there.”

Sherlock showed in his face the words he was still too unsure of himself to speak in public. The names he couldn’t always bring himself to say without blushing unless they were alone. The love though, that was right there in his eyes as clear as day for John to see. It slid in side by side with the trepidation at their situation. 

“Any time, John. Are you ready? I do believe these gentlemen would like to proceed with haste.”

John glanced around as best he could, embarrassed by the delay he caused, his cheeks pinked slightly as he prepared himself to take the next step.

“Sorry, yes I’m ready. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Sherlock looked at John, watching him bury the uncertainty with a shake of his head in the dark recesses of his mind. He dithered a moment, not quite sure what the correct procedure was for this situation. He looked at John and taking a breath, glancing around nervously he took a gloved hand in his, not waiting for John to respond he turned and set off in the direction an agent pointed when Sherlock laid his gaze upon him and raised an eyebrow. Setting off towards the uninspiring doors ahead of them, he kept John’s hand in his and pulled him along. He didn’t doubt they would soon be separated and it was not something he was looking forward to. Just as they reached the entrance he felt John squeeze his hand in return, just a little indication that John had needed their almost contact as much as he did.

The doors opened as they approached. John was surprised to see that they were much sturdier than they appeared from the outside, several inches of thick steel disguised as a normal emergency exit door. He couldn’t deny he was a little impressed; everything was all a bit James Bond right now. There was another nameless man waiting on the inside, he greeted the team they had arrived with and they were quickly transferred into their care. With a whoosh of air that John felt as pressure against the back of his suit, they left the faint day light and surface behind. 

The still nameless man lead them to a lift, John stayed close to Sherlock, trusting him to let him know if there was something wrong. At last the man spoke, he turned to face them in the lift. Pressing a button marked B6, the lift began to move.

“Mr Holmes, Mr Watson, the next course of actions will be as follows. You will be taken to decontamination chambers, the suits will be removed and you will be moved to secure laboratories. Once there you will be attended by a team of physicians, one team for each of you. Your teams will be assigned to you for the duration of your care. A full work up will be undertaken; we will be taking blood for tests as well as base lines for us to monitor against. From there, all we can do is monitor you for any changes and hope there are none.”

Sherlock eyed the man with distrust, but then again he looked at everyone that way. John knew he was observing the man, preparing to make his deductions. This was not the time for that, they couldn’t really afford to have Sherlock alienate the people that might be called on to look after them should everything go tits up. He didn’t doubt they’d still take care of them, going against the wishes of one Mycroft Holmes was not conducive to a fulfilling career and after all they had oaths to uphold. But, it couldn’t hurt to have them on their side. He tugged at Sherlock’s hand until he looked at him just long enough for John to shake his head. All he got in response was a roll of the eyes and a slight nod, but it was better than nothing and enough for John to be relatively sure Sherlock would behave.

“Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me. We’ll begin.”

\-----(000)-----

Finally after hours of being poked and prodded, x-rayed and cat scanned, Sherlock and John were finally done with the doctors. They had been moved and made as comfortable as possible in their temporary home. Dressed in very fetching hospital gowns they had been moved to the quarantine area and left alone. Sherlock arrived before John and was stood waiting for him as he made his final pass through the air lock entrance. He looked so very lost as he stood there, looking more fragile than John had ever seen. So waiflike and subdued, it was enough to have John hurrying to him. His eyes shone as he gazed up into Sherlock’s. He raised his palm to mirror and rest against Sherlock’s. He wished more than anything that he could feel the heat of his skin, the elegant length of his fingers and not the cold unyielding glass that separated them. Rationally he knew why they couldn’t be together, he understood the risks and quarantine and the need for it. At least his professional side understood, he didn’t have to like it though. He just wanted to hold Sherlock close and wait for them to be cleared with a clean bill of health. They didn’t speak; there was nothing to say that needed more than the looks they give each other. Words wouldn't make the feelings more real or the communication any clearer. John pressed his forehead to the glass knowing that Sherlock would do the same. He had not anticipated the anxiety he would feel merely from being separated from Sherlock. Never mind facing the threat of illness and a possible nasty death. Being closer now alleviated some of it but it still huddled there very present in his mind. He wasn’t concerned for himself, he never was. His only concern since meeting Sherlock had been, well, Sherlock. He’d killed for him and he would without doubt do it again to keep him safe. But, there was nothing he could do now, there was no villain he could fight, nothing he could control and he felt woefully obsolete and lost. If he wasn’t able to help Sherlock, just what use was he? 

 

\-----(000)-----

 

In his rumpled suit and with mussed hair, Mycroft stared through his own reflection in the glass that separated him from the main containment area. He felt like a voyeur looking in on something so terribly special. The bond between his brother and John was something that honestly eased his soul. He had feared Sherlock would be forever alone, and then along came a war veteran and doctor with a psychosomatic limp and a desire for the dangerous. He wouldn’t stay long; they would have little enough time alone together as it was over the coming week, with doctors and scientists monitoring their every bodily statistic. With the cameras monitoring them there would never be true privacy but he could at least allow them this. He would give them that space, but he just needed to see that they were still there. He had never anticipated in the past that there would ever be any individual who mattered to him beyond himself and Sherlock. Now their life was full and he would be damned if they were going to lose it all now. With one last look at the tender scene unfolding between the two men, he left them with an added anger and extra determination to conclude this damnable episode of their lives. This would not be the end of the story for any of them, even if he had to fight the devil himself to assure it.

It was with added fervour in his step that he walked towards one of his on site offices. He knew when he arrived that the head of the medical team would be waiting to update him. So far the doctors were waiting for a final confirmation of cause of death from the three bodies recovered, they were currently being worked in the bowels of the facility as a priority one; the results would be pushed through as quickly as possible to arrive on his desk straight after. However, the doctors had been told the likely cause and advised to have available everything they might need to deal with a severe case. Mycroft wanted to know what measures they had in place should their fears be realised and either Sherlock or John manifest the symptoms of the virus.

Mycroft knew he had to push aside his emotions; they would only cloud his mind and make him ineffective. He knew it was going to be much harder to do that than it had been in the past. Now they resided much closer to the surface, the effects of having so much to live for. He hadn’t considered any negative effects of all the love his life now contained, his mind wanted to tell him to fight it, to put it aside, he could no more do that than cut his heart out. He saw now it made them all vulnerable, when he thought of all the positive gain his family brought to his life? There was no question that they far outweighed everything else. Seeking to maintain his focus he began to go through the list in his head. A list of things he needed taking care of in order for them to make the most of any and all information. Mycroft was eager to have Molly safely in the building and back under his watchful care, he was being updated on her progress hourly via text message, he had agreed to her access, he hadn’t said he wouldn’t monitor her progress and wellbeing. Mycroft wanted her back where he felt she was safest, allowing her the freedom she needed was taking its toll on him and he needed to focus. He had to arrange a meeting, gathering the family again to discuss the new information, much as they had around the dining table in the kitchen, what seemed like a lifetime ago. They worked best as a team, the whole family working as one cohesive unit. If that meant it had to be held in quarantine with them separated by the necessary barrier? Then so be it. He would not exclude Sherlock and John from the investigation. He knew his brother, he would quickly go insane should he be left with nothing to do. He was sure the case would not be able to progress as swiftly without his input either. They all knew that they needed Sherlock’s brain, he needed Sherlock’s brain and they worked most effectively when there were two of them. While secluded, Sherlock and John would be provided with copies of all the information they had, at least that may help to keep his brother occupied. Mycroft refused to think too long on what he would do if either of them did get sick. The best way to avoid thinking about the worst case scenario was to keep busy and he couldn’t deny there were indeed a great number of things that needed his attention. When he had placed the call to activate the emergency bunker for their use, he had demanded that there be a series of agents waiting for him. They were agents permanently assigned to this location and, held the highest security clearance available for their position. He was satisfied that the tasks he assigned to them would be completed efficiently and without compromising their mission. On his arrival, even as he stepped out of the car, he had been calling forwards the people sent to do is bidding. Now, while he had been otherwise engaged, he was confident that a lab was being set up for Molly. Offices were being set up for Anthea and Greg as well as himself, with all secure lines and computers. This would be their base from now on. This was a place he could control and provided all the amenities if not comforts they required. For now he decided, that would have to be enough.

\---- (000)-----

Sherlock’s voice was almost a whisper when he broke the silence they had slipped into. John looked up thinking it strange to see Sherlock’s lips move in front of him, but to hear his voice in his right ear only.

“John, I am scared.” 

Every fibre of John’s being tells him to comfort, to hold to reassure. But he can’t reach out and touch, he can’t pull him into his arms like he would normally do, or settle them both on the sofa with Sherlock’s head in his lap so he could run his fingers through the dark curls and soothe them both.

“It's all a precaution, were going to be fine Sherlock.”

“You don't know that John, you can't possibly make that assumption. The evidence suggests otherwise.”

“Well I need to believe, Sherlock. So please let me.”

“You are a doctor; you must be rooted in facts and logic.”

John was not happy at the direction the conversation was, taking but he could tell by the tone in Sherlock’s voice that he was at least momentarily distracted. However, he also knew that if they kept along this path. Sherlock would just get more and more agitated and separated as they were, it wouldn't be easy for him to snap him out of it. John wasn't sure which option was more destructive to be honest. Yes he was a doctor and yes he knew roughly what they were facing. He knew it didn't look good right now, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had to rely on Mycroft's ability to assemble the best teams and trust that they would do everything they could if the worst happens. He could only try and manage the situation they were in; being outside the case would drive Sherlock insane. This was new territory for them, this time they were the case. Keeping Sherlock distracted seemed the wisest course of action, so he'd focus on that and try to distract himself in the process. 

“Sherlock, we can't stay standing here all night. It's been a long day and I'm getting tired and stiff.”

Sudden interest peaked in Sherlock’s eyes as he processed John’s last statement. Raising his eyebrow he looked John up and down. 

“Nope not happening, you realise we are under constant observation? Of course you do, not into public indecency thank you. No, don't you use puppy dog eyes on me.”

Scrunching his face in agitation, John could see he was getting ready to argue. Sherlock turned to look around room. Flitting from object to object looking for options. 

“I refuse to go all the way over there to the bed. I find I do not wish to struggle to see you while we talk! And you will not be comfortable sitting on the floor or whatever kind of stool that is.”

Sighing, John had to make a decision. He wanted to calm Sherlock down, settle him and make himself feel more relaxed at the same time. He hadn't lied when he said he was tired and stiff. His energy was zapping away and he was feeling dead on his feet. 

“Sherlock, you see those handy things called wheels, on the bottom of the beds? Kick the brake off and move it. How about we shift some stuff around and push them together either side of the glass? Would that suit?”

The petulant pout of Sherlock’s lips was still evident, as he considered John’s suggestion. He looked around the room, stopping on nothing in particular before turning back to John, still looking less than impressed. 

“It might be acceptable.”

John held back his small smile until Sherlock turned his back. He hated this as much as Sherlock, but one of them needed to keep control. As usual it appeared it was going to come down to John to be the adult. It was a role he took willingly every other normal day, now wasn’t exactly the time to start fighting it. Sherlock needed some normalcy, they both did and right now this was the best he could offer. When Sherlock started to move the bed, John shot to do the same. The mood he was in, any delay would likely end in histrionics. Together they pushed the beds against the glass. John climbed on and lay on his left as close to the edge of the mattress as possible. If he ignored his breath misting against the cold surface and their surroundings, focusing only on Sherlock he could pretend they were safe at home. That this was any normal night when he was having trouble getting his lover to come to bed just to sleep. He watched as Sherlock flitted around, moving equipment until he was happy. 

“Sherlock, please come on. Leave that alone.”

He looked so lost and innocent, his hands fidgety as he moved a monitor between two spaces, rolling it back and forth, never completely happy with its location. The uncertainty of Sherlock’s movements and the doubt in his face was not something he liked to see.

“Up here now, Sherlock.”

He looked sheepish at the tone of John’s voice, glancing at him quickly from the corner of his eyes, but after only a brief pause did as he was told. Stretching out on the bed facing John, he tucked one hand under his head the other laying in the space between them. Normally John would take his hand, run his fingers over his knuckles before entwining their fingers. He wasn't sure if this made things better or if it just emphasised how very not normal everything was. 

“Do you think you can sleep, love?”

Sherlock thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“Talk to me,John? Fill the silence?”

“For you? Anything. Does it matter what I talk about?”

Again, Sherlock shook his head. Despite his protestations, John could see the exhaustion in his eyes. At times like this maybe his voice was enough to calm Sherlock’s mind and allow him to focus on him and fall asleep. He lowered his voice.

“How about the story of how a screwed up doctor, fresh from the war, met and fell in love with a genius?”

Sherlock lips rose in a smile that finally reached his eyes and John wished more than anything that he could kiss him. So, maintaining eye contact, he began to speak. He talked and talked, even as he grew more lethargic and felt sleep trying to claim him, he carried on until Sherlock’s eyes drifted closed and he hummed as he drifted off. If wasn't long until John too slipped into unconsciousness. 

\-----(000)-----

With a final nod, Greg walked away from the meeting he’d been in for the last two hours. He ran his hands through his hair, knowing he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He had a whole new respect for Mycroft and his bosses after this. The discussions he’d been involved with had blown his mind, he was used to making decisions for his team and cases but to be involved in something this big? Having the Chief Officer of Police coming to him with updates? It was so surreal he could almost convince himself that this was a nightmare. Greg had felt in over his head for the majority of the day but he’d held it together and fallen back on training and instinct. He’d lost track of Anthea hours ago as she moved with a long practiced efficiency through the chaos, knowing exactly who she had to speak to get done what she wanted. He knew that John and Sherlock had been removed to a secure location that Mycroft was filling with the best doctors there were to be had. Mycroft had sent word via a suited guard that Molly was inside with the collection teams but would come to him or Anthea when she was ready to leave. The sun had set a long time ago, now floodlights lit the area. He turned in a circle and for the first time since he arrived, looked at the whole scene. Outside the cordon there was no movement, all the buildings were dark he could just see the flashes of blue lights bouncing off windows well into the distance. Vans were being packed up and people devoid of the outer orange layer of the hazmat suits still wandered the scene in the thinner white inner protection layer, some with them unzipped and hanging around their waists as they drank to replace the fluids lost while they’d worked inside the sweltering confinement of the suits. Even in the chilled spring air working in them was tortuous. High visibility jackets over suits and police uniforms dotted around as the scene wound down. On the other side of the road outside a workshop, he spotted a low brick wall and headed in its direction. With a groan he sat down, his head was pounding, his feet and back ached and he was tired as hell. Just five minutes, he’d just sit here for five. Then he’d get up and carry on, he had another call to make to Mycroft and let him know all the evidence and samples would soon be heading towards his location and to expect the delivery. He slumped forwards to rest his hands on his knees and hold his head in his hands, massaging at his temples with his fingertips. He wasn’t sure just how long he sat there, but he started to smell coffee. Opening his eyes, he tilted his head back and pushed himself back to sitting straight.

“Am I hallucinating, or is this an angel I see before me?”

With the floodlights behind her Anthea looked like she had a halo and was glowing. Her front was in shadow but he’d know that body anywhere and in any light, he also noted steam rising up around her.

“Not an angel, but I did bring you coffee. You look like you could use it, honey.”

Depositing a steaming cardboard cup into his hand, she moved to settle on the wall next to him.

“You’re my angel every day of the week.”

“You talking about me, or the coffee?”

“Can it be both? Have you heard from Mycroft? Any news about Sherlock and John? Is Molly still here? She hasn't come to me for transport, shit I should have been looking out for her, I don't even know where she is and they've already tried to take her once.”

“Shhh don’t panic Greg, Molly is fine. She came to me a few hours ago, looking for someone to take her to Mycroft and the labs. I put her in a car with guards and sent her on her way. I had confirmation she reached it safely not long after. The last I heard about Sherlock and John was that they’d arrived at the compound and were going through a battery of tests before they were settled in to quarantine. It’s too early to know anything yet, but at least they are where the help is if we need it. Greg, what the hell do we do if they get sick? It killed the men in there, quickly.”

Greg put his arm around her waist and dragged her closer to him. Never mind looking professional in public, she needed this more. She turned her face into his neck and breathing deeply into his scarf.

“They didn’t have us, did they? I can get out of here any time now, how about you? When you’re ready we’ll go over together. Admittedly, it’s mostly because I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I never even thought.”

“I’ve only just thought of it myself to be honest, so don’t worry. How long until you’re ready to go do you think?”

Anthea blew out a long breath and pulled her thinking face. Greg waited while she thought, rubbing his hand up and down her side he looked at the surreal sight across the road. He snapped his attention back to Anthea when she started to speak. 

“I just have to make sure the last of the evidence and things Molly wanted are put in the right cars and moved to our labs for study. Check in one last time with Mycroft that he has everything he wants and that we are all cleared to leave and hand over control to a site coordinator and we can go. Do you need to do anything else?”

“No, I've just cleared the last meeting, everything is in hand from here out. Everyone has all the information they need and the story is in place and holding. How long do you think we can keep up the pretence of a gas leak?”

“It will hold as long as we need it to, forever most likely. We've used it before. Admittedly not for something as big but simple is often the way to go. It’s plausible, so we stick with what’s plausible and works.”

 

\-----(000)----

 

John wasn't sure what woke him, for a moment he was disoriented not quite sure where he was, but then everything came back to him. He rolled over to face Sherlock sure he’d find him awake and staring at the ceiling, his hands beneath his chin. The same way he usually finds him at home, still close by in their bed but otherwise occupied. When he turns over he was surprised to see him sleeping, but as his vision sharpens he looks closer and starts to worry. Sherlock’s face is flushed, he’s sweating and the room isn't warm enough to account for it. His breathing seemed shallow and rushed. Knocking on the glass between their beds John calls to him, speaking into the earpieces they'd both been given, but he isn't responding. John’s adrenaline kicked up, scrambling from the bed he ran for the door of his quarantine cell shouting for help. Praying that they are being watched closer than Sherlock’s condition going unnoticed would suggest. He’s shouting at the top of his lungs slamming his finger onto the panic button over and over. He’s sure their response can't possibly be taking as long as he thinks, time must have slowed. His heart is pounding in his chest, threatening to burst, his dread rising as he goes unanswered. When he starts to lose hope, he hears an unfamiliar voice over the intercom. 

 

“Dr. Watson, we’re coming, help is coming.”

Finally knowing he’s been heard he flew back to the bed, pushing it away with all his strength getting it out of the way so he can get closer to Sherlock. A team of doctors in protective gear burst through the airlock to Sherlock’s compartment, immediately they are shouting instructions and swarming the bed. Equipment is pulled away from the wall, oxygen tanks and tubes. They swarm the bed and the last thing he sees is someone inserting needles into his veins. He can no longer see Sherlock, no matter how much he paces the divide searching for a gap. He may be blind but due to the headset he still wears and its connection to Sherlock’s, even if Sherlock isn't responding, it transmits everything he needs to hear. Not everything registers just individual words. They are pushing fluids a high dosage of paracetamol to bring down his temperature. He also hears mention of antiviral drugs and antibiotics, which must mean they are worried about an infection. His lungs? As soon as he hears that, John is assaulted by images from the lab, swarming in front of his eyes and making him stumble. He shakes his head against the onslaught of light in his mind as flashes of blood spatter, blue lips and bloody foam spark in his mind. He’s fighting it, trying to stay on his feet, pushing the panic attack back. Without Sherlock to pull him back, he can't afford to lose himself in one now. 

“Mycroft, Mycroft can you hear me. Has someone called Mycroft Holmes? He needs to be here.”

In his ear he hears a voice, soft, broken and in pain. Almost foreign to him he doesn’t trust immediately that it is Mycroft. 

“I am here John, turn around. I am here.”

True to his word when John turns around, Mycroft is standing outside of Sherlock’s door. His face frozen but the voice John heard is enough to tell him what Mycroft is feeling. 

“Mycroft, you have to let me in there. I'm a doctor! I can help!”

“They are stabilising him John, giving him what they can for now. We know it’s some variation of Spanish influenza but that is all. Molly is working on it now, in a lab here. Please John, understand, you are not displaying symptoms. I cannot let you go in there and risk exposing you further. Sherlock would never allow it. My answer would be the same if your positions were reversed.”

“Bullshit, Mycroft. You couldn't stop him! If that was me in there he’d break the fucking wall down to get to me. And you know it! Do you understand?”

“I understand John, but I cannot let you. It is my fault you were exposed in the first place, my mistake that may well cost us everything. I won't make another John, I won't risk another of our family. You are my family as well John and I have to do what I can to protect you, even if you do not wish it.”  
He shouts and screams and Mycroft stands and takes everything he has to give. John whirls around searching the room, he seizes a metal stool and grasping it by the legs stars to swing it at the dividing wall. It bounces back, leaving a white scuff mark but doing no more damage. Again and again he swings the stool, releasing anguished cries as it does no more damage than the first time. With a roar of anger he threw the chair across the room, it clattered into an IV stand, knocking it to the floor with a crash and skittered across the floor. Turning to face Mycroft, tears streaming down his face and sobbing, he began to beg.

“I can't be without him, Mycroft. Don't leave him alone with strangers, let me in, Mycroft. I don't care if I get sick. Let me be with him. If this is it, if this is the end. You know I won't survive without him either. I'll make sure I don't, so it doesn't matter if I get it. Don't you see? Without him I'm nothing! Do you hear me, Mycroft Holmes? Don't you dare keep me from him. Don't leave him with strangers. He needs me! I need him! Mycroft, please? ”

His tear filled eyes met Mycroft's as he staggers backwards, his strength drained completely, collapsing in the only place he can see through the equipment around the bed, through to Sherlock lying alone and lost in the white sheets. He watches the green line of the heart monitor as it peaks sluggishly, the rhythm wrong. He’s becoming hypnotised by it, every time there's a longer pause his own pulse stutters. He doesn't know when the doctors left, he never saw them go but they aren't with him now. Shaking, the tears fall freely down his cheeks to drip from his chin. He presses his face against the glass, he balls his fist and bangs weakly against the obstacle that keeps him from his heart. John is slumped, a broken man on the floor, his soul shattering. He doesn't see Mycroft leave, doesn't see the tears that he cries as he retreats as alone and in as much pain as John. He hears nothing other than the beeping of the monitor as it fills his mind and his own shuddering breathing. He just stays on the floor rocking and bouncing his head off the glass, whispers breaking from his throat, he doesn't know he’s speaking his prayer out loud, doesn't hear the agony his whole being is feeling.

“Please. Please. Please Sherlock…”

No one sees the solitary tear that trails silently from the corner of Sherlock’s eye to land against the pillow beneath his head.


	17. The Limits we set ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens right after Mycroft leaves Sherlock and John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who reads, bookmarks and leaves comments and kudos. They are all gratefully received. It really does keep a person writing. At least it does this person. 
> 
> As always a shout out to MyCitrusPocket who's been there through every breakdown and panic attack when I don't know what I'm doing. Then she saves everyone from my truly nightmarish aversion to punctuation and apparent inability to see obvious mess ups and repetition. Love ya Gumbie xx

Molly sat on a high stool at one of the workbenches in her borrowed lab. The room had been ready and waiting for her when she arrived at the underground facility, when she’d entered she had stopped and stared, completely flabbergasted at the array of equipment available to her. She’d fought to get some of it for her lab at St Barts, but the budget just didn’t stretch far enough for her to even get half of the things in this room. As she glanced around she was both surprised, and somehow not, that all of it looked brand new. There were even instruction manuals with some of the equipment. She had a suspicion that this lab had not existed for very long, at a push she might even think it had been put together purely for her use. She hadn’t seen Mycroft for hours, but she was assured he was indeed in the bunker somewhere. All the information from the scene had been taken away by people whose names she may never know, but she’d been advised they were being copied and would be brought to her as a matter of priority. She had been advised it would take a little time to get everything to her as the papers had to be replicated to new papers as she had requested rather than merely being provided in digital copy. She always worked better when she physically had papers under her hands to sort through and arrange however she preferred. The files from the digital recorder were being transferred to a clean memory stick for her to access. She was eminently thankful when shortly after her arrival a brand new, top of the line laptop was brought to her. Complete with an attached note from Mycroft in his own hand. That he had taken the time to write it with everything that was happening made her heart thump that little louder. 

 

Dearest Molly, please utilise this as you wish, it is yours to keep. It has all the security necessary for the protection of everything you undertake using it. I instructed the technicians to upload any software you may require to aid you in your work. My Love, Mycroft

 

He really did think of everything, stopped problems before they even had a chance to be a problem. She knew this situation was killing him, for things to be so out of his control and in no way predictable. While she couldn't halt the progression of the saga they were embroiled in she could do her part. 

While she had waited for the safe copies of the evidence to be delivered, she once more donned the hazmat suit and headed for the separate enclosed portion of the larger lab, an area specifically for the study of hazardous materials. There she busied herself with making a positive identification of the virus. Just a formality as in her head she was convinced her initial instinct was correct. Her mind calmed with the task ahead of her, this was her comfort zone, she could put aside her emotions and worries and focus on the puzzle. She supposed this was why she could understand Sherlock’s focus when he came to visit her at work to use the lab. Sweltering inside the suit she focused on the sample, its image transferred from the microscope to a large computer screen. Those innocuous looking round cells ringed with a boundary of smaller circles. So uninspiring to look at but the implications their existence outside of a controlled environment, were indeed terrifying. With today’s modern medicine, Molly would have been more optimistic if she hadn’t heard those few seconds of tape back at the scene. She needed to hear what the doctor had to say, she needed to know what he had done. Needed to know what his manipulation of the very essence of the disease had wrought. There was nothing else she could do with the virus itself, any work she conducted may be completely useless if she didn't take advantage of the possibly information its creator had left for them in his own voice, his observations and notes could be invaluable. Preparing to exit the safe zone and get out of the suit, she glanced once more at the image on the screen and sent up a prayer to anyone who might be listening that they wouldn't lose the battle that was sure to come. 

 

\-----(ooo)-----

 

Taking a long pull from a bottle of cold water she’d found in the mini fridge tucked under a worktop, Molly tried to cool down. Now she was out of the suit it was a vast improvement, but she was still clammy and her hair stuck to her head in what she was sure was a very flattering manner. She sagged onto a stool to wait, wishing she had a number to call to find out how much longer she could be expected to wait. She needed to listen to the doctor’s voice. Just as her patience was running out, there was a knock on her door and an unfamiliar voice called for her. 

 

“Dr Hooper? I have the documents you require. May I come in?” 

 

Molly knew she was as safe as she was likely to get, hidden in Mycroft's underground lair, but her heart still kicked up a beat at the prospect of letting in a stranger. She did realise that almost everyone she would come into contact with in the coming days was going to be a stranger to her. Knew it wasn't exactly rational to feel as she did, but denying it wouldn't do her any good either. She wasn't surprised that her naturally trusting nature had taken a bit of a knock but she had faith she’d get it back. When she hesitated a moment longer before answering the voice at the door, she reconsidered. Maybe it would take a little longer than she thought.

 

“Thank you, could you just leave it by the door for me please? It's not quite safe to come in here right now.”

 

“Dr Hooper, are you alright? Should we call Mr Holmes?”

 

“No, no. Everything is fine, I’m just finishing decontamination that's all. No need for worry, I'll collect everything as soon as I'm finished. I'm sorry I didn't mean to cause alarm.”

 

“No problem Dr Hooper, I'll leave it all here. If you need anything just dial 9 on the phone on your desk. Mr Holmes has instructed that you are to be provided with anything you require as soon as is possible.”

Molly called her thanks through the door and listened to footsteps retreating down the corridor. She sat and stared at the locked door for several minutes, wanting to make sure that the person had indeed left. She knew it was irrational but with so much to do, Molly couldn't let herself get too focused on the reasons behind her actions. Girding herself she stood and moved slowly towards the door, twisting the lock she pulled open the heavy door. Sure enough the corridor was empty except for the box at her feet. She could see reams of paper clipped together. She wasn't sure what kind of method they'd used to sort the chaotic documents but she was pretty sure she’d change it and when she went through it all searching for clues. Lying on top of it all was a medium sized brown envelope, there was no writing on it and it wasn't sealed. As she plucked it from the box something slid around inside, tipping it over her hand a silver memory stick dropped into her hand. She closed her fingers tightly around it as her breath hitched. 

“This is it then. Come on Molly, big girl pants on. Let’s go.”

Unclenching her fingers she released the innocuous little stick, letting it fall to land against the papers in the box. She bent to heft the box into her arms, pushing the door closed with her foot she locked herself once more within the confines of her temporary home.  
Dropping the heavy burden on to the station next to the laptop she plucked the stick from the box and turned to settle herself in front of the laptop, she placed it on the workbench and set about powering up the computer. While it booted she tried to prepare for what she might hear and learn in the time it took to listen to all of the files. 

As the laptop hummed, she eyed the memory stick, her hand hovering over it before pulling back. She knew that the information she needed might be on it, but the fear that she set her expectations too high held her back. She knew that speed was of the essence, that she didn’t have time to be hesitant, but it didn’t stop the churning in her stomach as she waited in front of the laptop, fighting the urge to get up and pace. Mentally shaking herself she straightened her spine and stretched her neck before snatching it and slotting it quickly into a USB port. Waiting a few moments for it to be recognised she clicked on the icon to open the files. It was now or never, and never wasn’t exactly an option. She selected the first audio file and the doctor’s voice rose from the laptop speakers in front of her.

 

“The virus is unstable, had we more time I could have isolated the problem and perfected it, but we are fast approaching the delivery date and the client will accept no delay, I have no option but to use it as it is.”

 

It didn’t feel any better hearing that statement for the second time. If the scientist in charge of the virus didn’t fully understand the modifications he’d made and it was unstable, creating a method of fighting it would be problematic. She queued the files, setting them to play one after the other and started the playlist. The graphic bouncing with each spoken word on the screen in front of her, hypnotic as the patterns shifted before her eyes.

 

“What did you do, Karl? Tell me what I need to know.”

 

“The modifications made have not been a complete success. The virus is lethal without doubt. But, it mutates too quickly, once infected the carrier becomes infections within a few hours. But, the changes cause it to burn out within 24 hours, the window is limited for transmission. ” 

 

Molly’s heart quickened with the statement, if it burned out that quickly, quarantine could work. It was most likely that they wouldn't be able to save those initially infected, there just wasn't time to create a vaccine of any kind and they didn't have a sample of blood from a survivor to work with. By isolating those exposed straight away they could quickly halt the virus’ progress. It pained Molly that in the event of a release they would have to sacrifice the few to save the many. She knew that it would be the only way, however much she would wish differently. They would have to act immediately if they failed to stop the terrorists and they managed to succeed in their plans, they wouldn't have much time especially if people became infectious within hours. A few hours could mean there was transmission up and down the country and that was not something at could be allowed to occur. She’d have to speak to Mycroft, he knew the target. With that information and the threat if they failed maybe they could have everything in place ready just in case. If they controlled the area and she didn’t doubt it was possible to do so, should it come to it they could control the outbreak and minimise the casualties as much as possible. 

Molly continued to listen to the tape. The files blended into each other as he talked on and on, his frustrations at his virus not being perfect. His frustration at not being given more time, as each snippet blended into the next she kept holding her breath waiting for words that would help. She made copious amounts of notes. Small snatches of information, unfortunately there had been trials on human subjects throughout the process, he had not been satisfied with testing only on animals. Unfortunate people, those who wouldn't be missed, taken from the streets. Frustratingly at no point did he say which country or city those streets had belonged to. The doctor had taken the sample when he fled his last job, Mycroft would have to have a word with someone about that. There should be no way to abscond with a strain of the virus and it not be noticed. Even now there were no rumours out there that something had happened, it was a terrifying thought that it was even possible. When she considered all the diseases and virus’ that were being brought back to life or worked on to develop cures if they got out it could very well be the end of life as they knew it.

 

Molly found herself almost zoning out, the litany of a mind descending further and further into madness. Until she heard chilling words that snapped her back to attention. Words she hadn't thought to hear, even knowing that his body lay somewhere within the same building as she. His voice was tight and the words strain.

“There has been an incident. We have been exposed. We cannot leave here, the building is rigged to explode should we attempt it. The phone he supplied takes only incoming calls from him, calling for aid is not possible. We should be visited in 2 days, however we are watched 24/7 so I do not doubt they already know. I do not know if help will arrive, but I doubt it more and more. We have no medical supplies here, should we develop the virus we will have no way of even attempting treatment. Should I become ill, I will only become my own caged lab rat.”

At least that explained why they hadn't fled immediately, or sought medical attention. Not that there would have been time to help them, but the information may help complete the picture for Mycroft and those he had set to investigating. It concerned Molly that they had been watched, she didn't know if there had been any talk of surveillance when she had been at the site. Could they have been watched? Could whoever was behind the whole thing have seen every single move they had made? Even the prospect had Molly’s skin crawling. 

“Johnson has started to show symptoms. We have separated him as much as possible but there is nowhere to go. Though, it is fascinating to see my creation in action.”

Even with the very real threat, still he was excited. It was not even something Molly could try and understand. Neither would she try to, she didn't need to poison her mind with such thoughts. It was enough that she had to listen to his madness without pushing herself to sympathise.

“It may be noted, regrettably I shall now be documenting my own case. Three hours since exposure and I am beginning to display symptoms. I am certain I shall prevail and this information shall be invaluable to my future research.”

“My breathing is becoming increasingly laboured. My temperature is rising and my body shakes no matter what I do. The lethargy is frustrating, limiting what I am capable of doing.”

Molly felt a strange flush of excitement, this was information she could use, this is what she needed him to tell her. If she knew what was coming, she could advise the doctors who may be needed what to expect so they could prepare to treat the symptoms if they couldn't do anything about the virus itself. 

“They finally came, the fuckers watched from the doorway. Not ...coming close, making us stay in place by pointing guns at us. How very unoriginal, but I expect nothing else from such uncreative... uninspired foot soldiers, good for nothing but following orders. Then they left, never even speaking. They dared to ignore me? What is their work without my genius? Their plan is basic at best without … my involvement and they treat me like this? I have been sacrificed. I still have the payload canisters here and I want to destroy them, but at the same time I want to see my baby loose… and doing its job. My life's work, my name should go down in history. I shouldn't be forgotten like some nameless minion. I will be infamous no matter what they try to do.”

“Bennett’s lips have purpled… Indicating lowered oxygen... levels in the blood.

Molly could hear him struggling to breath, his case moving much slower than the other two though they were exposed at the same time, could to be a clue as to how it affected different people. Whether its target would be the young or old the fit and healthy or the already at risk? It was all crucial information that without these files they may have never known until it was too late. Yes the test group, if they could be referred to as such was small but it might be enough. She listened to the next few files quickly one after the other.

“Johnson and Bennett are… as good as dead. Each breath brings more blood from their lungs leaving little room for air. They drown on dry land and... it is beautiful. They don't move from where they fell... and I can see each drop of life as it leaves them. Blood leaks from eyes and nose and ears. Beauty… no… artist could ever... recreate.”

Molly couldn't be anything other than horrified at his words. It was hard to do anything but be glad that this monster of a man was no longer walking the earth. Just one more thing and no one would ever know he had even existed. He should never have existed.

“Coughing...has started, breathing is increasing difficult so far there are no signs of… blood being expectorated.”

“He called, told me I had failed... him. I did… not do this for him, he provided the opportunity… for me to do as I wanted. He made the… mistake of thinking I owe him anything. Karl Williams… will never owe anyone anything it will always be…the other way around. He would have... done well to remember that, with... me… as his... partner he could have owned the... world. Always the bigger… picture, it could have been... ours.”

Molly was frustrated beyond belief; he talked about the man, each time she held her breath just waiting for the name. But each time he let her down. She heard him deteriorating and knew time was running out. It was there, right there the opportunity she had been waiting for but he held out. His ranting was getting worse the words broken more frequently as he had to stop in an attempt to suck more air in to his damaged lungs, which resulted in extended wet coughing and sickening bubbling and wheezing sounds that turned Molly's stomach to hear so clearly and know what the end result was going to be.

“Come on give me the name you bastard, tell me who you're talking about, I need the name, damn it. You're running out of time! Tell me!”

 

In what could only have been a matter of hours, not even a day the deterioration of the doctor’s condition was evidently swift. Molly couldn't tell how much time had lapsed between the last two files, but the man who spoke now did not sound like the man at the beginning of the recordings. If they had been taken out of context she would have sworn that they were not the same man, that decades in age separated them. His breathing was so laboured now that just speaking a few words seemed to sap all of his energy. She knew there were only two files left and her hope for more information was waning. She knew she should be thankful she had as much detail about the progression of the disease as she did, from the words of the man who experienced them. There could be no better source as he recorded every small piece of information in order to have as thorough picture as possible when he was well again. He may have been absolutely crazy but he had documented as they were taught during training. Still there was a nagging disappointment that overshadowed all of it, as there was always one more thing just out of reach and it was not something she would ever be able to learn from him. These were probably the last words this man had spoken at least, the last of his poison thoughts that anyone would ever hear. 

“My body… is… weak. I don’t...have much time... left. He… will ... regret... the... day... he let me... die.”

Molly was a compassionate woman, tried to look for the good in everyone she met. But, now? No Molly was glad the man had died painfully, she was glad his crazed mind was no longer a threat. They just had to deal with his parting shot. Hope that Sherlock and John made it through quarantine perfectly well and they managed to find the case containing the virus that Sherlock was convinced was missing from the scene. If she set it out in individual tasks it didn't seem quite so overwhelming.

“Remember… Hunter Emmerson... With… me… you could... have had everything.”

Molly’s hand flew to her mouth, a smile breaking out on her lips. With the last file he'd given her everything. She didn't know who he was, but they had a name. At last the puzzle piece they'd been looking for. Through everything they had been through chasing it back had eluded them, but here it was. She had to speak to Mycroft immediately, she couldn't contain her excitement. She jumped from the chair, wincing slightly at the stiffness in her back from sitting in one place on the uncomfortable stool for so long. She span in a circle then hurried for the door, desperate to find him in the labyrinth beyond the door. 

 

  
\-----(000)---- 

 

The words John screamed at him had struck their mark. Mycroft knew he meant every word he had spoken, that every insult had been merely an observation. He couldn't argue with the truth. Mycroft knew he deserved every word, he was to blame for each badly made decision. Each precarious situation he sent them to. His single minded determination to eliminate the threat had backfired in the most spectacular fashion, now his loved ones were paying the price. The whole situation was running away from him, no matter what they did, there was setback after setback, seemingly without any kind of positive results. For each advance the punishment they received eclipsed it, forcing them back again. Mycroft wanted to give up, fear of failure taking advantage of his current weakness. All the doubt he could usually stem took its opportunity now and flooded his mind.

He managed to stand tall and stay on his feet as he exited quarantine, though he didn't know quite how as tears flowed freely from his eyes. He didn't even try to brush them from his skin, just let them roll and drip as they would. Even as the heavy doors closed behind him and he stood separated from them, he could still hear John’s sobs. Though, whether the sound existed outside of his mind he honestly couldn't say. He started to weaken as he walked; as his steps slowed he had to reach a hand to the wall to steady himself. In order to remain on his feet he had to stop and lock his knees. Rooted to the spot and swaying slightly, he disappeared in his mind. Sherlock lay in that room struggling to breathe and for perhaps the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do. His fear at the prospect of losing everything paralysed him where he stood. He knows as he stands there that he is being observed, that the cameras in the facility watch his every move, but he can't even bring himself to care. 

 

\-----(000)-----

 

Greg and Anthea were finally delivered to the quarantine location long after the sun had set. Their adrenaline wearing off they were coasting on fumes, a bone deep weariness setting in. The kind of tired that coffee on its own can’t quite stave off, at least not for as long as they needed it to. With heavy feet they exited the car that had ferried them across town, Greg didn't know where they were, he wasn't wholly convinced he'd been awake for the entire car journey but he found it didn't actually matter where he was. They hadn't heard anything from Mycroft for a while, the idea that no news was good news rattled around Greg's mind. He wanted to be optimistic but after the years he'd spent on the job he wasn't too sure he could even hope that was true. Anthea had done all the talking once they’d been met at the door, Greg standing by her side with a hand at the small of her back as she continued to work. She gave off an air of control and competence that was awe inspiring, he was sure it was only he that saw the fatigue in the way her shoulders were set. They were just getting settled into a shared office, Anthea discussing progress and being brought up to speed by a young woman in a suit when their phones rang. Their eyes met quickly as they both answered, trepidation on their faces. His call was brief and Greg was rather surprised to receive one at all as he watched Anthea pace agitatedly in the small room, dismissing the woman with a nod and a wave of her hand. He listened to the voice on the line, struggling to accept the news as it was recounted. Sherlock was sick. His heart stuttered as his brain fought to reject the information, her call was longer than his and he tried to be patient while he waited. As soon as she finished she turned to him.

“Sherlock’s sick, John’s losing his mind and Mycroft is not coping. We have to get down there now. Shit Greg, I don’t think I know how to cope with all of this either.”

“Come on love, we’re the only ones left. We’ll do what we can and hope for the best. Get Mycroft to Molly, speak to the doctors about Sherlock and work out what we can do for John.”

He took her hand, offering what support he could while they were too busy to take the time to bolster each other. Later, possibly much later they would have the time they needed to fully take in the situation. Together they exited the room, heading quickly in the direction of the lift.

 

\----(000)----- 

 

When they stepped into another identity less corridor a further three floors further down, Greg exited first and pulled Anthea with him. He stopped for a moment reluctant to hurry in the wrong direction.

“Did they say where they last saw him?”

Anthea glanced at her phone, looked around to get her bearings and then pulled him along behind her. They approached quietly, according to the techs, Mycroft was around the corner and hadn’t moved other than a slight swaying for the last few minutes. Walking slowly towards where he should be, they found him. He stood with his back to them in the middle of the hallway swaying slightly on his feet. He didn’t move as they approached, not acknowledging their presence at all. Greg moved around him carefully his voice low and soothing. 

“Myc, come on mate, let’s get you out of the corridor, yeah?”

As though catatonic, Mycroft didn’t respond to Greg. He did speak though, a whisper in a broken and distant voice. 

“Sherlock… John… Molly…”

It wasn't clear if he was acknowledging Greg's company or if that was all he’d said since he'd become rooted to the spot. As far as he knew there was no audio on the video feed so chances were they would never know. His eyes were glazed and far away. He did turn his head to look at him but Greg could tell he wasn’t seeing him. He was worried and glanced past Mycroft to look at Anthea, she stood behind him nervously wringing her hands in front of her. He had never seen either of these two powerful people at such a loss, he had no doubt that they would in time revert back to the confident self-assured people who could tackle any situation head on and be victorious. He supposed everyone had a tipping point and the very real threat to Sherlock’s life appeared to be that for Mycroft. Trying not to startle him he reached out his hand and laid it against Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Come on mate, let’s get you to Molly, yeah?”

Greg looked at Anthea not exactly sure which direction he should be guiding the out of sorts Mycroft. Anthea typed quickly into her phone, it was mere moments until she apparently received a response to whatever she had asked. He suspected she was finding out where to find Molly in the maze of tunnels and levels. With one last check of her phone Anthea hurried forwards and took Mycroft's other arm other arm. She set a slow pace and lead them both forward.

“Come along Sir, let’s get going, shall we?”

Her voice was soft and laced with emotion as she tried to hold it all together. They were all shaken by the events of the day, every one of them emotionally compromised. Greg wished there were more options, but he supposed now it was his turn to hold them together. This is what family did, supported each other when one of their number needed help. She laced her arm around his to draw him with her. He made a few stumbling steps but something was definitely wrong with the way he moved, as though he wasn't sure how to anymore. 

“Sir...? Mycroft? Do you want to do this bit on your own? Do you want me to get Molly? I need you to tell me what to do.”

Anthea stood before Mycroft so that she could look up into his face. She placed her hands on his cheeks, holding him still trying to stop the rocking motion that had begun when they had drawn to halting stop. She tried to break through the protective shell he'd crated around himself, but he was deeper than she had feared, there wasn't even a flicker of recognition behind his eyes. She searched for any other option, any sign that he was still with them and would come back quickly on his own. She looked for any avenue she could take that wasn't quite so extreme, but there was nothing that suggested he saw her, or anything around them. She knew that everything that had happened was weighing on him, how cold it not be. It seemed that this was to be the final straw.

“I'm sorry I have to do this Mycroft. I really am, I wish I could give you the time you need to work through this on your own, but we need you with us and you've not left me any choice. I know you’ll understand, you wouldn't forgive me for leaving you like this right now. Not when we have a way out even if it is extreme. ”

Greg watched as Anthea took a steadying breath. He didn't quite understand what was going on or what she was apologising for but he figured he was about to find out. Anthea released Mycroft's unresponsive face and took one step back. 

“Papa five November, protocol two.”

As soon as she said the words it was as though she’d slapped him. His eyes widened his nostrils flared as he took one step to steady himself. Greg was shocked as there was immediate recognition in his eyes as he snapped into focus. What was missing before Anthea spoke the words was suddenly present in spades. He looked between them with shock on his face. He couldn't quite explain to the rational part of his mind what he'd just seen. Ingrained conditioning? Under what circumstances could Mycroft Holmes, not so minor position in government, be required to respond to a trigger such as that. Definitely not words you'd hear by accident. And if that was protocol two? Were the others?

“Anthea?”

She shook her head slightly cutting him off.

“One of those things you can't tell me?”

She looked a little sheepish as she nodded. He understood, he really did, that there would always be things she couldn't tell him. This was definitely one of those times. She didn't take her eyes off Mycroft, when Greg saw him shift slightly, taking up a defensive pose, worry for their safety coursed through him, urging him to move Anthea behind him just in case. Anthea had seen the movement too but she didn't budge. He knew Mycroft would never hurt them willingly, but was this the Mycroft they knew? 

“Mycroft, you are not in danger, there is no threat for you to defend against. Stand down Sir.”

Mycroft stood for a moment, absorbing Anthea’s words. His heart rate began to slow and his breathing evened. He felt his muscles begin to relax, his body notching down the immediate fight response that came with taking stock of everything around him. Everything a little too much, the lights too bright, sounds too loud an assault on all of his senses. It would all settle soon, but there was always a jolt to the system when they had to use the special measures in place to draw him out of his mind and into the present no matter the circumstances he was in. Designed to transcend pain of any form and make him focus on the situation at hand. There would at some point be repercussions for him, something that wrenched the mind so completely was bound to have a knock on effect down the line but he’d have to deal with the drop when it came and hope they were in a position that it wouldn't cause more issues. It wasn’t a long term solution, but it would buy them a few much needed days. It wasn't as though it eliminated the emotions that had caused him to retreat. He still felt the crippling regret and fear, he was still vulnerable. However, it did allow him to push past it, accelerating the recovery time he required. He glanced around the corridor, frustrated momentarily that they all looked the same and he wasn't sure where he was exactly. He recalled Anthea and Greg speaking to him and that chances were Molly was behind one of these doors, he just didn't know which one. Anthea noted the confusion and impatience on Mycroft's face and gathered the reason behind it.

“Second door on the left. Molly’s in there, safe. Will you be alright on your own Sir?”

Stilted with his first word, as Mycroft spoke his words strengthened to a point where people less familiar with him would say he sounded normal, but both Greg and Anthea heard the slightly alien note to his voice, 

“Anthea. Greg. Thank you. For everything.” 

The words were halting but they were enough to have Anthea relaxing slightly and letting out the breath she'd been holding. They were at least a sign that he would be ok. With one last look they left him, slowly stepping back, moving quietly to turn and walk around the corner. Mycroft waited a moment allowing their retreat before moving with still unsteady legs towards the room that held the promise of comfort and a feeling of security that he greatly needed.

He was halfway down the corridor when the door which was his goal, flew open with force and Molly charged into the hall full of frantic energy. She didn't see him straight away, looking down as she was stumbling over the threshold. She jumped slightly as she looked up ready to continue on her mission, she stopped and with shrewd eyes took in all he was, all he might have tried to hold from her. Molly knew there were few things that could devastate Mycroft to the point he looked like he was fragile. But the man in front of her now was delicate and looked lost. She knows without him having to say that their worst nightmare has come true. Either Sherlock or John or even both had become ill. Right now that was all she needed to know. She opened her arms and Mycroft practically fell into her embrace, his body shuddering as he did so. She held him tight as he crushed her to him. Bringing a hand up to hold the back of his head she murmured in his ear. 

“It’ll be ok My, we won't let it be any other way. We’ll get him better.” 

He held her closer as the tears fell once more, but he didn't feel quite so adrift as he had with Molly holding him in place. 

 

\----(000)-----

 

Greg and Anthea caught one last look at the scene before them, as they hurried away knowing that Mycroft was with the one person who could pull the pieces of him back together. Molly would walk on hot coals to protect him and look after him, Anthea knew there was no better place for Mycroft right now and it eased some of the burden she carried. 

“I’ll have the tapes deleted, no one will ever see and those that already have won’t say anything”

“I never doubted for a moment. We need to go speak to the doctors; we need to know what’s happening.”

Greg was sure it wasn't in his imagination that Anthea stood closer and held his hand a little tighter as they walked towards the unknown, their steps heavy with trepidation.


	18. Bent but not broken.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Direct continuation. 
> 
> As always my thanks to MyCitrusPocket, who puts up with me sending her random smut when my brain starts to spew it, instead of letting me write the next chapters of this. She fixes my faults and keeps everything on track. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone to reads and leaves kudos and comments. All comments are treasured and greatly appreciated. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

As Molly held Mycroft close, over his shoulder she caught sight of the retreating forms of Greg and Anthea as they disappeared around the corner. She would have to find them later and thank them for bringing him to her; he really wasn’t in any state to be on his own. She leant back a little before circling around him and using her meagre weight to push him through the still open door to the lab. He was sluggish and slow to move but he was doing as she wished, so she’d take the small mercies where she could. Herding him towards the stool she had vacated as she’d fled the room, she tugged at his sleeve until he sat, collapsing into the seat, hunching his shoulders. Where the seat had been high for her, he sat with his feet comfortably on the floor with his knees only slightly bent. She stepped between his legs and placing her hands either side of his jaw, lifted his face and waited for him to meet her eyes. When he looked up they were red and swollen, with the pads of her thumbs she tenderly wiped away the tears that still clung to his face. Not able to stop the calming movements she found herself caressing his cheeks long after the moisture was gone, his stubble scratched at her palms and rasped in the quiet room as she moved her fingers over it.   
Not wanting to push him too much and add to the pressure he was already under, she waited patiently for him to speak when he was ready. Molly used the time to think, hearing the news that at least one of them was sick, chilled her. She needed to know more, it didn’t really matter which of them it was, each was important as the other, even one of them being sick was enough to shake her core. She’d been existing in a forced state of denial, trying to compel herself to believe everything would be ok. That all the preparations they made would all be for nothing, that there’d be no need to worry. Even with the knowledge she now possessed she was scared, but she had to trust that the doctors they had were the best. There would be no second rate care for their family. Molly knew it was imperative she gave the information to Mycroft, knew the name was what they had been waiting for and that it was most likely the key to the case. The course the illness was going to take. She had thought about it in the abstract, not really expecting to have to see it first-hand she supposed. But now with their family it was information he would pounce on with vengeance but she had to take care of him first. As soon as he was in a position to be able to do anything with the name she would tell him, but for now she would hold on to it for a moment longer until she was satisfied he was back with her and in control once more. Molly leant closer, still holding his face she placed her lips close to his ear and softly prompted him, her voice low and calm and unthreatening.

“Come on love, tell me.” 

Mycroft heard her words and wanted to respond, it’s not the same as before, he isn’t lost again, but he just doesn’t know where to start. How do you tell the kindest(,) most understanding woman you have ever met, who possesses a heart bigger than you knew it was possible to have, the things you have done? The coldness with which you acted towards a member of the family you claim to love? He warred internally, half deciding no matter how difficult the decision had been to make, it had been the correct one. The other half though? Well that whispered its poison in his ear. He was wrong. He let them down. He didn’t care. Rationally Mycroft knew that these traitorous feelings were leftovers from Anthea triggering him, that this doubt was not him and not helpful in the least, but pushing it all aside and focusing on the matters at hand was proving difficult. Once Anthea stood him down with the realisation that there was no one and nothing to fight, the energy released to defend himself had to go somewhere. As he had noted in the past the path of least resistance had it taking a self-destructive route.

It took him a moment longer and Molly’s lips against his temple for him to ready himself to speak. Steadying his breathing and reigning in the traitorous emotions as much as he could, he began to talk, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Sherlock. Sherlock is sick. John woke up and saw he was struggling to breathe. Molly, he can’t breathe and I can’t help him. I can’t do this for him and it’s my fault. I can’t be angry at him this time, I can’t blame him for the state he is in. The fear is the same as before, when he would be found strung out in some god forsaken place and I would receive a phone call. I always thought that is how he would die, that I would get the call I always waited for with dread. But this? I could never have predicted this. This is not his fault. His precarious position attached to wires, tubes and needles can be laid only at my feet. The blame lies solely on my shoulders. John, Molly. John screamed and screamed and I denied him everything he asked for. I cut him down Molly and held him from Sherlock. He fought and I stood there and said nothing. Am I so cold that I would deliberately hurt him like this? I thought I was doing the right thing, he does not appear to be showing any symptoms and if I allow him access to Sherlock, the probability that he will escape infection again is low. But was the decision the correct one? I ignored his pleas, Molly, I denied him his choice and watched as his world fell apart. I observed his decline brought about by my words. What beast am I that I would do that to someone I hold dear?”

Molly cut him off. His voice was escalating with each sentence his agitation growing, he became increasingly frantic his voice rising with each explosion of thoughts that escaped his lips. He twitched on the stool, his whole body jerking as he spoke. Molly had never seen him like this, it scared her seeing him so undone. Molly knew she couldn’t allow him to continue along that vein, she needed to calm him down and quickly. Everything that was happening was a product of their situation not of Mycroft’s doing. Molly knows that he knows this, she just needs to remind him.

“Don’t do that My, don’t disappear on me. Don’t question everything, especially not yourself. You are not a monster My, not even close. Would a monster sit in front of me now, broken as you are over what is happening? Torn by the decision he made? No, he wouldn't question it. Could I love a monster? And you know I do with all my heart. No Mycroft you aren’t, you feel more than any man I know, a monster wouldn’t protect us the way you have always, and will always do. You do what you have to do and make the decisions no one of us has the guts to make. Saving us from having to even try and make them. You are a good man Mycroft, listen to me and know it’s true. John will understand, he probably already does but every part of his being will be screaming to get to Sherlock. You’d be no different if it was me. I’ll speak to John. I’ll go and see him after this. Sherlock will get better. Everything is going to be fine, My. You are going to be fine. Ok? None of this is your fault, don’t you dare try to shoulder the blame.”

 

Mycroft started at her in amazement. A man of his position couldn’t afford to be vulnerable, not for a moment. For years he’d worked on becoming untouchable. Pushing aside everything and now with his wounds open to the world, this dainty woman stood before him and held everything in place through the sheer force of her will.

“I listened to the information we found at the scene. A Dictaphone full of files, My. The doctor, Karl Williams’, talking about his creation and documenting his sickness. I know what we are looking at My, I know the progress the virus takes if there’s no medical intervention. I listened as the man weakened and heard his last words. I listened as he died My, and I felt nothing but relief that he isn’t here anymore. But I know what we need to do for Sherlock, we just have to get him through 24 hours, after that the virus dies and we just have to deal with whatever it leaves behind, but we can cope with that My, we can treat pneumonia and anything else it throws at us. You know the doctors you have here are the best, you wouldn’t have demanded anything else. We just need to keep him going through the initial 24 hours and we are six hours into that at least. We’ve got the best doctors and access to whatever we need. We’ll get him better My, we don’t give up!”

Mycroft wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. Holding her tight he thanked the heavens that he was lucky enough to have her in his life. Her words brought relief but at the same time regret that she had to go through the emotions caused by listening to the man die.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that Molly, but at the same time I’m glad you did. 24 hours? If we get him through 24 hours he’ll be alright?”

“It’s not going to be an easy 24 hours, My. Trust me it really isn’t. But yeah I’m confident we can get him through it.”

There was hope in his eyes, an innocent quality to his voice and there was no way she was going to wound him further with information that wasn’t pertinent right now. Molly truly wished she was as confident as she made herself sound. But there was no way she was going to tell Mycroft anything different right now. He needed as reassuring news as she was able to supply. She’d give him the best case scenario, later when he was a bit stronger they could discuss it further if she felt they needed to. This was very much going to be a case of need to know information for him. She didn’t know if he’d let her get away with it but she had the feeling he knew he only needed a certain amount of information at the moment. Anything more and it wouldn’t help him focus. She pulled back to look at his face, knowing he could hide his true feelings in his voice but he could never truly hide it from her in his face, maybe from everyone else but never from her. He lapsed into silence again and she could almost hear his mind whirring away.

 

“How are you feeling now? And don’t lie to me, because you know I’ll know if you do.”

“I will be well. Perhaps not right now, but I will be. How could I fail to be so, with you to hold everything together?”

“It’s good to be recognised.”

She smiled at him, the smile reached her eyes but it was soft and warm and everything Mycroft needed.

Molly couldn’t help but need more contact with him. She was pleased he hadn’t automatically said he was fine, with anyone else he would have, and it would have been a lie. The pain she felt, the looming threat that promised loss was very real and as much as he needed her support she needed his as well. She shuffled closer until Mycroft lifted her from the ground and settled her sideways across his thighs. moving her this way and that until he had her where he wanted her. She tilted her head back and looked at his profile until he raised his eyebrow and turned his head to look at her.

“We’re going to be fine, you know. We’ll get all of this sorted.”

“I wish I had as much faith as you, my dearest. I honestly do.”

“Then I'll have enough for both of us. What’s mine is yours.”

With their arms wrapped around each other, they sat in silence. Molly waited until she felt him relaxing against her. She doubted he would truly relax until everything was over and done with, when the whole mess was just a nasty memory well in their past. When his breathing was even once more and the pulse in his neck stopped throbbing quite so hard, she broke the silence.

“I'm going to go and see John after this, if he's careful he can be with Sherlock, but he needs to be calm and be in control. He has to know he can't risk himself but he can be with Sherlock. Ok?”

“I trust you implicitly, Molly. Whatever you think is best, I support completely.”

“I honestly think it’s the best thing for the both of them. If John is with him I think Sherlock will fight harder, anything that makes him fight can only work in his favour. It will be easier for John as well if he can stay close.”

Mycroft nodded along with her, he worried his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment before tightening his arms around her and falling still again.

 

“Do you want to come see John with me?”

He thought for a moment and doubt flickered across his face. She could see the war he had with himself as he tried to decide what to do. 

“I don't think I can face him at present, Molly. I assure you I will not distance myself from Sherlock and he for long, however at this moment I do not feel I am able.”

“Mycroft it’s fine. Really, I won't push this. I know you’ll go back when you are ready. If you need time, I understand completely. I’ll be there and I'll take care of them as much as I can. They won't be alone, so don't worry about that and don't you dare feel guilt. Your health is just as important and you are under a hell of a lot of stress right now. My, does the name Hunter Emmerson, mean anything to you?”

His head snapped round so quickly she heard his neck crack. His eyes were sharp as he looked at her.

“Where did you hear that name, Molly?”

“On the tape. The doctor, he blamed him. I think he's the one pulling the strings, Mycroft. It sounded like he'd been the one pulling the strings on all of this from the beginning. That look on your face My, you know who he is, don't you?”

“It can't be! Are you sure that's what you heard?”

“I'm sure. I have it here, listen.”

Molly slid from his lap and moved to his side dragging the laptop in front of her. She brought up the clip and pressed play.

Mycroft listened in silence, he watched the sound bars as closely as she had done. All the while she watched him, watched as the muscles in his cheeks tightened as he clenched his teeth and his brows drew together. 

“It's impossible. It must be a different man. He’s been dead for years. We were told he was dead, there hasn’t been a sign of him since then. Molly, I need that file.”

Whilst listening to the file he had risen from the stool and braced himself with both hands on the worktop. He stood there, a confused mix of agitation and disbelief. He began to pace, a habit he’d managed to mostly break over the years. She’d only seen him do it a few times and never when there was anyone but her to see. It was definitely a sign he was truly troubled by what he’d heard. Although the name had meant nothing to her, it clearly meant a great deal to Mycroft. While she was incredibly curious she knew now was not the time to ask questions. He stopped abruptly in front of her. He looked at her but she could see the distraction in his eyes. 

“I have to go. Will you be alright?”

“I'm fine Mycroft, I’ve got things to do and people to speak to.”

“There are instructions in place to do as you ask, however, should you encounter any problems call Anthea or I and we will clear your way.”

She knew as soon as he stepped out of that door he would have to be the public, in control Mycroft. She watched as he pushed everything down and snapped his persona in place, his face instantly flat and indifferent in readiness for work. Even still he stood in front of her a heartbeat longer. 

“Go My, I'm fine. I'm going to speak to the doctors and then go see John and you can keep tabs on me with your cameras, so don't worry about me. Go.”

He tipped his head sharply at her before stepping towards the door. He stopped again, strode back to her and quickly sealed their lips together. The kiss, hot and hard, stole her breath and then it was over and he was disappearing out of the door.

\-----(000)-----

Molly hurried down the corridor determinedly, it had taken a phone call for directions but now she moved towards the horde of doctors who were treating Sherlock. She needed to pass on the information she had, the more they knew, the better Sherlock’s care would be. She planned out in her head everything she needed to do before she went to see John. Once she was near to them she knew she wouldn't want to leave, as she’d told Mycroft she would be their eyes, leaving Mycroft, Anthea and Greg to do what they were best at. 

She wasn't sure where they were at with finding the terrorists, she had to be honest her mind was more worried about their immediate family, the rest of the world be damned right now. She wasn't sure if that made her a bad person but she had to trust that the others were taking care of it. They were the big picture people where she was more home orientated but together, Molly figured, as a unit they had everything covered, the best of all worlds. 

Locating the room number she’d been given, Molly opened the door and strode in.

“I'm Dr. Hooper, I have information regarding the Spanish influenza virus. I need to speak to the lead physician.” 

Molly had given everything she knew to the doctors, thankfully they understood she was a pathologist and that gave her weight when it came to identity and treatment. Also having Mycroft on her side didn't hurt.

\----(000)------

Mission accomplished and feeling quite good about herself, Molly went in search of Anthea. She hadn't been able to speak to her friend in hours, not since she’d bundled Molly into a car when she’d been ready to leave the warehouse. Her mobile didn't work down here, unlike those of the people she was now surrounded with but she supposed that was to be expected. Luckily she didn't seem to be able to go far without encountering some suited minion or other. Molly really couldn't think of another way to describe them in honesty. They were likely agents or something but really, she didn't have the knowledge to correctly identify them so minions it was. Halting one of them as they hurried around the maze she’d managed to find directions. Level B3, section 2, room 14. Molly repeated it over and over in her head, desperate not to forget and end up god knows where. Following the large painted number on the grey walls it occurred to Molly that this place was probably a lot older than she had first assumed, then she had been so preoccupied when she had first arrived that it was a wonder Molly remembered anything at all. 

Reaching a crossroads of sort, Molly looked in all directions. Damn, she'd made it to Level B3 but lost in thought as she had been, she'd managed to confuse herself. She stood for a moment beginning to think she needed a ball of string or breadcrumbs to navigate this place. She shook her head and was tempted to do eeny meeny to pick a direction, in the end she settled on an old favourite. If in doubt turn left! Whether it was skill or luck, Molly wasn't sure but she ended up outside the right office and knocked lightly on the door. She could hear a murmuring voice inside and soon the door was opened and Anthea stood on the other side. 

“Mols! Come on in. Are you doing ok?”

She stepped back and Molly followed her into the room. Glancing around, she spotted Greg. Sprawled face down on a small sofa, one arm curls under his head the other dangling off the edge to touch the floor. His knees bent, feet in the air wedging his body into the too small space. Molly could hear faint snoring sounds and couldn't help but grin. Turning to Anthea she whispered.

“Should we go someplace else? Let him sleep in peace?”

Anthea waved her arm and snorted, then she glanced over at him. Molly saw the warmth on her face as well as the fatigue that suggested she should be sleeping too. It had been an extremely long day and she and Greg had been awake all the night before, only getting a very small amount of rest before Molly had burst in and woken them up when the panic had all begun. 

“Nah, he's out for the count at the minute, nothing will wake him up. We're good.”

“Thank you, A. For earlier, bringing My to me.”

“Mols, we both know there was no better place for him to be. He’s much better now, I saw him not long ago. You work magic Mols, what more is there to say?”

Molly went to lean against the desk, raising her eyebrow and pointing at a pile of paper she motioned moving it aside. As Anthea dropped into the chair she nodded and Molly scooted the pile over and hopped on the surface, legs swinging freely. 

“Can you tell me anything? Mycroft’s face dropped when I gave him a name earlier and I was hoping you'd be able to tell me something.”

“It's really his story to tell but let's just say he knew Hunter Emmerson a long time ago. If it is him, then it's a big blow for him. I do know he's made the decision to call in a lot of heavy hitters. He's asked me for a special file of contacts. I've never seen him use it before, but I've heard of some of the names in it. Half of them are the myths and legends of the business, Mols. He's doing this one mostly on his own, making the calls, speaking to them. He’s asking them to come in, I don't think there has ever been a meeting like this is one place. Mycroft is preparing for war and he’s called his special forces. That's all the info I have at the minute, what’ve you got?”

Molly told Anthea everything she had. Told her about her discussions with the doctors and any progress they had, as she suspected Mycroft had told her some but Molly was able to fill in a few of the gaps. As Anthea started to yawn, Molly looked at her with concern. 

“Have you got somewhere to sleep for a bit Anthea? You can't hope to function properly if you don't get some sleep soon. Even just a couple of hours.”

“Yes, Mum. I'm dragging the lump over there a couple of doors down in a minute. I got my instructions from Mycroft just before you arrived. I've done what I can for now, I've been told to get a few hours at least before we report back for duty. It just feels wrong. Going to sleep while everyone else works. I'm not used to it.”

“Anthea, you’ve been holding everything together while the rest of us fell apart. I think you’ve earned it. So don't argue. Anthea, I hate having to ask you for another favour, god knows your list is long enough right now, but I don’t know who else to ask.”

Anthea’s eyes were sharp as they bored into Molly. Instantly alert and on guard.

“Mols what’s wrong?” 

“Don’t panic, it’s just. Toby. I don’t have anyone to look after him and he’s all alone at the house. Mrs Heatheridge can’t be there because she was sent away to be safe and I don’t really have friends who aren’t already down here with us. I don’t know who else to ask.”

An audible sigh left Anthea as she relaxed and a smile tugged at her lips.

“It’s already taken care of. My little man is currently on his own mini holiday with a trusted junior agent. She picked him up from yours a couple of hours after we left and is going to take care of him until we’re all back to normal. He’ll be quite happy being pampered, don’t worry. Annie is a cat person too, I picked her especially, not just anyone will do for my Toby you know!.”

“God Anthea, what on earth would I do without you? Thank you though, for everything A, not just this. Everything. I'm going to go now before I get all emotional again and John’s been waiting long enough.”

Molly looked from Anthea to Greg and back again. 

“Go get some sleep, in a real bed so neither of you break. I'll see you later.”

The two women hugged each other tightly before Molly let herself out of the office. As she turned to pull the door closed behind her, she saw Anthea standing in the middle of the room toeing off her heels and holding her phone to her ear, while she looked down at Greg. Molly was extremely glad that Anthea had Greg, when she stopped looking out for her own well being, Greg tended to step in and take over if he could. But then Molly supposed Anthea did that for Greg as well. She would happily admit that her steps were a little lighter as she walked away from the office, than they had been when she had arrived.


	19. The Cavalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me on this one. 
> 
> You should check out my partner in crimes work. MyCitrusPocket, who keeps me on track, writes beautiful tales that everyone should read and that I am fortunate enough to be allowed in on the process. You'll love them as much as I do!
> 
> Thanks Gumbie, I couldn't do this without you.

Mycroft stood at the window of yet another temporary office, staring over his city. He seemed to spend his life moving from office to office around the capital, when the only one he actually wanted to be in was at home. He just had to make sure that there would be time again in the future, for him to sit in the study and smile as he listened to the house filled with life. Taking care of this situation would move them closer to that goal. He trusted in Molly, if she told him Sherlock would be ok, how could he argue against that? Molly was going to be with Sherlock and John, providing her knowledge and supportive presence, taking care of them. Knowing that they were cared for in his absence allowed him to focus on the final portion of this, he would take care of the issue. Then he could focus on the family and they would put this all behind them.

Mycroft couldn’t believe that the identity of the mastermind had fallen into their laps in such fashion. All the teams he’d had working day and night, back tracking everything in hopes of finding a name and Molly, his Molly, found the crucial information. The name though, the name had shaken him. A dead man’s name and one he hadn’t heard in a very long time, even if he could still hear the voice of its owner in his ear these many years later. He couldn’t help but look over the lights of the city below and let them blur as he thought of the past and the memories stirred when Molly had spoken the name. Images flowed through his mind from his first few years after university and his initial forays into the big wide world. He supposed it was only a matter of time until something or someone from his past targeted him, but he had never contemplated it would have been someone he had called friend.

He took no shame in calling a meeting of allies. He made the phone calls himself, knowing that the requests coming directly from him would convey the serious nature of the situation. With the recent revelation, he knew that their position would only become more tenuous with time; they must strike while the iron was hot. Perhaps they could have dealt with the threat of the Spanish influenza but to have this over their heads as well? No this would require the special talents of a number of friends and protégés, relationships he had carefully cultivated over the years knowing one day he may be forced to make the decision to seek their help. He was certain there were none better suited to the task, than those he had collected.

 

\----- (000)-----

 

With the pressing matters completed, Molly was now free to head to John. While she hated that she had had to leave him alone for this length of time, there had been no choice. In order to give them the attention they required the other things had to be dealt with first. There was no need for her to don any protection, he hadn't caught the virus when they'd been exposed or he’d have been sick already. She didn't even wait for permission to enter, she'd make her intentions clear and while there had been some grumbling about the safety of others, no one really had cause to object. They wouldn't be at any more risk than his doctors. Hell, she and John were doctors, so long as she discussed the situation with him and made sure he knew what was expected of him, there shouldn't be any problems. 

When she caught her first sight of John through the glass, Molly couldn't deny it was incredibly painful to see him look so small. While he wasn't a particularly big man to start with, his whole personality made him seem much larger. Right now though, his body tucked in tight slumped against the glass wall, he looked so lost and alone. He didn't react when she entered the key code and stepped into the room, nor when she called his name several times as she made her way to him. Not once did he take his eyes off Sherlock. The rest of the world had ceased to exist for him and Molly could completely understand. She knew then, looking at him, that John being with Sherlock was the best decision for both of them. 

Molly stood behind John now and he still hadn't responded to her calling his name. She was worried, but she understood his focus. It wasn't easy loving a Holmes, but the prospect of losing one was even worse. Reaching out her hand she laid it on his shoulder as she called his name once more. He moaned low in his throat, the sound of a wounded animal in agony. He turned into her touch and wrapped his arms around. Molly did the only thing she could think of and dropped to her knees in front of him, there was nothing else she could do but return his hug, pulling him close she let him cry against her shoulder. As she rocked them slowly she let go of the tears she’d been holding back. Molly wasn't sure how long they stayed like that but by the time John’s tears subsided to hiccups, her knees ached. Smoothing the hair on his head Molly leant back to look him in the face. 

“Thank you, Molly.”

“You know I’m here for you. John. You’re family.”

“What am I going to do, Mol? I don't know what to do.”

Molly softened her eyes and brought her hands to his face. Making sure he could see the sincerity and certainty in her eyes. He couldn't doubt anything she was going to say, it was vital he believed as much as she did. Sherlock needed them to fight for him and they couldn't do that if they had to battle their own insecurities. 

“We're going to get him better.”

He searched her face with trepidation and a little disbelief, but behind it all there was hope at her words, he nodded without speaking.

“We've got more information and I won't sugar coat it for you. It could get really bad, but the virus dies quickly. We need 18 hours more John, he needs to stay with us for that long after that he’ll still be very sick but we can work with that. You have to help him fight. You be careful and you wear a mask when you stay with him, ok? If you wear the mask and follow normal procedures you should be fine. Don’t take any more risks John, please. I’ll bring you his file, you can read exactly what they are doing and they will listen if you have suggestions.” 

“I accept the risks Molly, I won’t leave him in there alone.”

“Then follow me. I’ve already had it cleared. You know Mycroft just wants to protect you. He didn’t stop you before to hurt you. Don’t hold it against him, please John? He just wants to keep you safe. So do I, but now you’re a bit calmer I know you understand. I know you need to be with him. You being with him might just be what makes the difference. Mycroft knows too, John. Please don't hate him, don't forget it's his brother in there.”

“I don't, Mol. I don't hate him. Fuck it hurts, but I understand.”

She leant in to press a kiss to his cheek. She took his hand and together they clambered to their feet.

“Thank you. Come on, let's go get you ready.”

Molly pulled him with her as she strode towards the doctors labs. She pointedly ignored John’s uneven gait.

 

Molly waited for the doctors to finish preparing John. She had heard some of the process and she was glad John’s history in the forces allowed him to follow instructions well. As soon as they had arrived the other doctors had whisked him away. She stood to one side leaning against a wall out of the way of the working doctors. She watched them hustle around grateful they seemed so competent, just listening to them discussing treatments and updates eased her. It was no secret that Molly's protective mothering instincts were extremely strong when it came to their little family. While she tried to make sure everyone was taken care of she had to put a brave face. Of all of them she was the one with the least pressure on her shoulders. So she had adopted checking everyone was coping as well as possible as her job. Mycroft was back on his feet for the time being but she’d check on him again later. A suited body, not one of the doctors stood to her side and handed her a bottle. She looked confused and then down at what had been handed to her, smiling as she glanced up ready to offer thanks for the drink but the person was gone. She seriously had to question where on earth Mycroft found these people, because she'd never met anyone who could disappear like they could until she’d met him. She was still deep in thought when someone touched her elbow making her jump. 

“Dr Hooper? Dr Watson is just finishing up the last of the tests for confirmation of health and will then scrub in and mask up. Do you want to come and get ready to go in with Mr Holmes before we lead him through?”

“Of course, lead the way.” 

She straightened and followed the man from the room, she needed to be with John when he saw Sherlock in case he needed her support, she doubted he'd accept it from anyone else if he needed it. She wanted to see Sherlock desperately and check on him for her own sake. Yes, she knew he was sick and she’d seen him from the distance of John’s room, but she hadn't seen him up close and she wanted a minute with him before John went in so she didn't crowd their time. This was the perfect solution. She would go in first, have maybe five minutes or so with him and then she could leave John and Sherlock together while she went to see Anthea. So long as one of the family was with Sherlock, she was as happy as she could be that no change would go unnoticed. 

 

\----- (000)-----

 

Mycroft asked for an update on everyone's position from his desk. Knowing where everyone was right now was extremely important in keeping him together. It brought him a sense of calm amidst the chaos, enough that he could continue to be effective in his work. With the necessary phone calls made, now was just a dead time for waiting. Not something he was incredibly good at. He knew it was cowardice that made him want to avoid John right now, but he decided there were many worse things he could be doing. While he wasn't ready to see John, he desperately needed to see Sherlock, that may have been a contributing factor in his checking on John’s exact location. He had been advised that John would be preparing to join Sherlock for another twenty minutes. That would give him plenty of time to go and see his little brother for himself. Mycroft knew he would have to see John soon but he didn't think either of them are quite ready for that right now, their emotions were running high and they would end up saying more hurtful things that wouldn't help anyone. This might be his only chance to see Sherlock without having to face John so he hurries uncharacteristically to the quarantine bays. 

He prepared quickly in a separate area to the majority of the doctors and stepped through the airlock into the room. His hands dry from the anti-bacterial wash and his breath warm against his face as it bounced back from the surgeons mask he wore. He couldn't help but take in all the details, the clammy forehead, laboured breathing, if anything he looked paler and more birdlike in his fragility than Mycroft could ever recall. His heart stuttered as he slowly made his way to Sherlock’s side. Mycroft knew they were keeping Sherlock under sedation as a precaution, even so it was incredibly difficult to see him lying so still in the bed. His hand itched to touch, to convince himself that Sherlock was still with them. Without him making the conscious decision he had already reached out and was hovering over Sherlock’s head, he held it there before he was no longer able to stop himself. He gently sank his fingers into his brother’s hair and began to stroke his damp forehead. 

 

“I am truly sorry, Sherlock. I am sorry that you are here and I did not take better care of you. I know you would be pulling faces and snorting at me in disgust if you were able, so if you wish to do it again you have to recover. Do you hear me? For once Sherlock, please do something I tell you. I apologise for my treatment of John, I was not deliberately cruel, it did not bring me joy to be so harsh, however I still believe it would have been foolish to let him endanger himself and I hope you understand. Molly is with him now and he will be with you soon. You have to fight for him, Sherlock. I believe he spoke the truth when he said he would not survive without you, no matter how we tried to ensure his safety.”

Mycroft looked up as the heart monitor Sherlock was attached to, appeared to jump out of rhythm. He frowned, could it be possible he could hear him? If that were the case, Mycroft would take this opportunity while he had a captive audience. He continued to run his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, he didn't know if it was allowed but he doubted anyone would tell him differently, so he settled slightly on the edge of the bed. Back to the headboard, not quite fully sitting next to Sherlock on the bed but close enough. When Sherlock had been small and sick they’d spent nights like this, Sherlock not wanting to be alone, making Mycroft tell him stories. Exciting tales fit for an inquisitive genius with a creative imagination, highwaymen, soldiers and his favourite, pirates. Mycroft still remembered most of the stories and wished he had time to tell one now. Because adult or not when he looked at the man in the bed, he was still his lonely scared little brother, but there wasn't and Mycroft regretted that. 

“If only you would allow me to speak these words to you while awake. But you are stubborn Sherlock, as am I, and we are our own enemies in this. From the day you were born you have been mine to protect, no matter how you fought me. We are magnets, you and I, constantly repelling and attracting. You will never, not be my concern, because you are my family and while it grows larger than we ever thought possible, your place in my heart is assured and cannot be routed. You must fight Sherlock, use your obstinate nature to your advantage little brother. We need you here. I need you here. Who else can match me word for word? I have to go Sherlock, John will be here soon and he will stay with you but I am not able to face him yet. Snort all you wish little brother because I know you are, I admit in this situation to being a coward. I promise you Sherlock, while you recover I will remove those who hurt you from the planet. They will most certainly regret targeting a Holmes and expecting to succeed. I will see you soon, I expect you to be in a suitable condition to resume our usual interactions.”

He stood, slowly removing his fingers from Sherlock’s curls. He righted the sheets and blanket around Sherlock with care, tucking them slightly around his frame out of regressed habit. With one last stroke of his hair and regardless of the mask covering his face, he bent to press his lips to Sherlock’s forehead. Lingering slightly as he did so, he fought back the new tears that threatened to fall. He pushed back and walked straight to the door, leaving once more without looking back. 

\----(000)-----

Holding her hand tightly over her lips to stop sounds escaping, Molly scuttled out of sight. She hadn't been able to hear Mycroft as he spoke to Sherlock but she had seen enough in his body language to know he hurt. The tender scene before her as Mycroft leant over Sherlock and kissed his forehead made her heart and stomach clench to the point she had to press a hand to each. This was the man others didn't get to see, the caring and loving man that she wanted to spend her life with. It was agonisingly beautiful to see. The way Mycroft had walked when he left, the determination on his face? Without doubt she knew he’d found the strength and anger he needed to drive him through this. So long as he held onto that, the world had better watch out. 

Once Mycroft passed and she was sure he was gone, Molly hurried to let herself through the double airlock doors. Even though she knew he was sedated she still found herself creeping on her tiptoes to the side of the bed. As she looked down at him she couldn’t help but run her fingers up and down his arm, he looked so fragile and every part of Molly screamed to pull him into her arms and rock him like a sick child. Where Sherlock was concerned, every mothering instinct she possessed ran straight to the front of her mind. She didn’t even try to stop the emotions, there was no point, she was not sorry that she had them and they were too strong to deny.

“Hi Sweetie, don't you worry we're going to get you better. What’d we do without you hmm? My life would be rather boring if I didn't have you to worry about, wouldn’t it? Who else is going to bring me Quavers for lunch? Or dance away behind me, excited to see whatever body part I've got to experiment on next? I need you to get better Sherlock and I'm going to do what I can, but you have to fight with us. I don't know if you can hear me Sherlock, but you've got to be strong for another 18 hours or so ok? The virus lasts 24 after that you'll just be normal sick. Not... Not this. Everything’s too quiet without you, Sweetie.”

Molly heard the tell tale whoosh of the airlock and leant down quickly to do the same as Mycroft, and press a kiss to his forehead. With one last squeeze of his arm she stepped aside as the door opened and John hurried in. She stood to the side and made herself as unobtrusive as possible.

\----- (000)-----

John tried, he honestly did but as soon as the door opened, he couldn't control himself and ran to Sherlock’s side. He tentatively reached out his hand to run it over Sherlock’s curls before taking a limp hand with his strong one and entwining their fingers. 

“I'm here, Sherlock. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. You have to be strong for me. Alright love? If you can hear me, this is me demanding you listen to me. No if’s, no whining or complaining. You’d better get your arse better.”

Molly quietly grabbed a stool from across the room and placed it next to John, touching his shoulder she urged him to sit. It wasn’t the comfiest of seats but it would do until she could arrange for something better to be brought in. John wouldn't think about his own health or comfort, so she would have to do it for him. She excused herself and left them alone, pausing only briefly for one last look at them before leaving the area all together. 

John looked down at Sherlock, he didn't look any better close up, but at least now he could touch him. The doctors had been in again while John had been getting ready to join him. His breathing was getting worse, he struggled and John knew it was only a matter of time until the oxygen tubes in his nose would have to be replaced by a breathing tube down his throat. John was thankful he was a doctor and knew what was going on. Thanks to Molly he had a full run down of what to expect and what was already happening. He was still shell shocked and extremely emotional, but furnished with details he could be calmer. There wasn't the big aching gap caused by not knowing. Sherlock was still gravely ill, but it wasn't as bad as not knowing. For a time he had known how families without knowledge felt as they hovered in waiting rooms eager for even the tiniest detail. It was not a feeling John ever wished to feel again. 

“Ok Sherlock. It's just me and you in here now and there are some things I need to make sure you know. Ok? Good. I love you. Not just the pieces that don't annoy me, no, I love every infuriating habit. Your apparent inability to find a wash basket for the life of you. Your rather demanding nature. Your attention span when you're bored. Do you knew why especially that one? Because when you're bored you come looking for me. Everything you do is to get my attention. But do you know the funniest thing, Sherlock? You always have my attention. You always have had and you always will. You're a genius and you're my genius so I need you back, ok?”

John squeezed the unresponsive fingers in his own and slumped forwards to press his forehead to the back of the hand. 

“How am I going to grow old with you if you don't get better? And we are doing that, you know. Growing old, retiring to the country. Well out of the way of neighbours, so they don't call the police when you're bored and shooting things. Maybe we’ll get a dog. We can roam the countryside looking for intrigue where there probably isn't anything happening until we drive ourselves crazy. Be my husband, Sherlock? Marry me? Let’s do the whole thing, yeah? I want it all with you. Every damn hallmark card moment that you’ll likely forget unless I write it down. Even then you’ll probably forget, but I still want them with you. So you'd better come back because I want valentines and Christmas and a perfect life with you, Mr Holmes. A perfect life for us and I think you’ll agree I can't do it on my own.” 

\----- (000)-----

 

Within hours of making the calls, men and women who didn't officially exist, started to arrive at the compound. Some arrived in chauffeured cars deposited directly into the inner courtyard, others walked in from the street, invisible in their average appearances. They didn't garner a second glance from anyone who saw them, so skilled were they at their jobs they disappeared into the melee of life. Each time a new person arrived Mycroft received messages with the news; he tallied them in his head, seven down only one more. He didn’t have confirmation that they would be coming but he would wait for them, if their getting to London was at all possible, it would happen, he’d just have wait and hope. Each arrival was escorted to quarters and advised the meeting would take place as soon as everyone arrived. He would admit he wasn’t the most patient of men, but this was one situation that called for him to wait.

 

Mycroft moved to an office higher above ground than the one he’d made the calls from and stared over the city as he contemplated what he was about to set in motion. Once this meeting was concluded there could be no turning back, this was the point of no return. As he poured over his plans, readying the information to convey to those he gathered to distribute the challenges ahead, he heard a helicopter fly low overhead, it did not appear to hover over the building at any point merely passing by, still extremely close for the centre of the city. It wasn't long until the reason for the helicopter buzz became apparent, alarms sounded loudly throughout the building. With the surveillance cameras feeding to monitors on his desk, he scanned the images until his eyes caught sight of statuesque brunette. Dressed head to toe in dusty khaki, a scarf tied around her throat, hair swinging in its ponytail with each step she took in the heavy desert boots on her feet. He watched as she let herself into the building through the roof access door, its security causing her no delay at all. She took the stairs rather than the lift as she made her way towards the office he sat in, their planned rendezvous point. He rolled back the roof footage quickly out of interest, not able to restrain the roll of his eyes and shake of his head when he saw the helicopter swoop in low and barely hesitated over the building as a figure rappelled quickly from an open door, landing gracefully, she released the rope and gave the signal for crew to pull away. She turned her back from the rotor blades downdraft, her hair flying around her before the footage caught up to the first place he'd seen her. He couldn’t help but smile, she was still as dramatic as ever. 

He returned to the current camera feed and watched as she strolled along corridors as though she had all the time in the world. At no point did she look to the cameras as they followed her every move, he knew she saw them all, but it was her way of saying she wasn't threatened and knew he would be watching her approach. As always, a subtle power play between old friends. She had as was usual for her, caused commotion with her penchant for dramatic entrances. Mycroft fielded worried phone calls and had silenced the alarms that blared as soon as she appeared, quickly standing down the security response to an unknown intruder. It was with a small smile he dismissed the security chief, who was less than pleased at her unconventional arrival and disregard for protocol. They didn't know that if she was allowing them to see her, she was going out of her way to display that she posed no threat to them and she'd never been one to stand on ceremony. If she ever chose to switch allegiances, they would never see her coming and they would all be dead before they could raise any kind of alarm. 

She had known Hunter as well as he, perhaps better. They had risen together from their days as junior field operatives, they had spent much of their time in parts of the world that would never see the face of a tourist, with only each other to rely on. No matter the situation, if they had needed help the others would come to their aid. She had mocked him mercilessly when he had made the move to his suited position, leaving her wreaking her unique brand of havoc in the fields. Though she had never had any desire to tether herself to a desk and bury her head in even more paperwork. He hadn’t told her why he called, it was a conversation they needed to have face to face. As she got closer to the office he poured scotch into two glasses on his desk, ready for her arrival. He stayed with his back to the door as she approached. A challenge to her also demonstrating he wasn’t threatened, in truth he still couldn’t resist their game.

 

Without knocking she walked into his office, closing the door quietly behind her. She stood her back to the wall and with a raised eyebrow waited him out. 

“You look tired, Katherine.” 

“You called, I hitched a ride.”

“Dare I ask where you were?”

“Some god forsaken sandbox of a country. Which one doesn't really matter, they are all the same.”

She looked around the room, not the most inspiring of places but she had a small smile on her lips when she looked back at him.

“It's been a while since we last sat in this room.”

“A veritable lifetime.”

“What's going on, Iceman? You called, I came. But I still don't know why you wanted me to come?”

“Christ Katherine, where do I even start?”

“Wherever you think is best. In twenty years this is the first time you've ever invoked the emergency codes we put together all those years ago. When I got a message saying you needed me to come home, I came without question. Now I’m here it’s time for the questions. Tell me what's got you so ruffled you had to call in the cavalry.” 

“Hunter is alive. He is no longer one of us, he is attempting to destroy everything I hold dear. He tried to arrange the kidnapping of my partner. He plans attack the population with a modified strain of Spanish influenza which Sherlock was exposed to and is currently fighting for his life in the facility downstairs. I need your help Kat.”

The words flew from him in a rush, so very uncharacteristic of him, but it was somewhat of a relief to get them out. He watched carefully for her response, the news would be a shock no matter the speed of its delivery. Ten years ago Hunter had gone off radar. He hadn’t contacted either of them and a year later it had been reported he was dead. Lost whilst on assignment, they’d had no reason to doubt what they were told was true and nothing more had been said, there had been no questions regarding the absence of a body. They each accepted if they died over seas, they wouldn’t be claimed and brought home. Hunter had never called for help, never in the years since had there been any sign that he lived. Even just the smallest of suggestions would have at least had them looking for him and he was sure there had been nothing. Mycroft and Kat had mourned in their own fashions and stayed close through the years.

“He’s not dead? Are you sure Mycroft? Really sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”

Kat was a little unsteady on her feet as she moved to sit in a chair. She sagged against the back and scrubbed a hand through her hair, disturbing the haphazard ponytail it was contained in. He could have phrased it differently, he could have been more sympathetic and gentle with his revelation but he knew she wouldn’t appreciate it. She had never wanted to be coddled, she was a fighter and he would treat her as such. He’d made the mistake of underestimating her and treating her as he’d been taught to treat the fairer sex, only once mind you. He still held the scar he earned with that mistake. Mycroft couldn’t help but smile a little as he absently rubbed over the area that housed the faint mark. It was the only reminder he would ever need, the perfect lesson in how not to underestimate anyone based on preconceived ideas.

“Where’s he been Mycroft, for all these years? Why did he never call us. He had to know we’d come for him? We put everything in place when we were young and took more risks than we should but they would have still worked. Even now, if we got the call we’d help. Why’s he coming after you now?”

“I wish I knew, Kat. I do not know what to believe. All I know is we cannot allow him to succeed.”

They stared at each other across the room, regret in both of their eyes. All the enemy's they had made over the years they hadn't expected the biggest threat to come from one of them. The ultimate betrayal, as far as they were concerned. They were supposed to fight together, as they had always done, side by side, supporting the other. It was never supposed to come to this. 

“Confirm his involvement, Mycroft. Find him and point me in the right direction. Convince us beyond doubt Mycroft, we need to know for sure if we’re going to do this, I need to know if he’s gone over or if it’s some bastard sullying his name. Either way, find out who’s in charge and send me to do what I do best.”

Mycroft tipped his head quickly. Kat was on board, her stipulations more than reasonable. Ones he wouldn't have proceeded without anyway.  
They were in agreement; they would take care of this in their own way. 

“I assume you called in a team? They here yet?”

“They have been arriving all night. We have been waiting for you.”

“Well I do feel honoured. Have I got a room around here somewhere?”

“Same as the old days. Do you require a few hours before we begin?”

“No, give me half an hour to get the desert off me and we can get the show on the road. Do me a favour though? Have a coffee waiting? A big one.”

She scrubbed a hand across her face, stifling a yawn and rising from the chair she strolled across the room towards him. He stood to meet her and returned her quick hug.

“It's good to see you, old man.”

“Less of the old if you wouldn't mind, but the sentiment is returned none the less.”

They broke apart and with a wink and a heaviness to her step that hadn't been there when she entered, she left the room. Mycroft sat back down in his chair, leaning backwards. It was good to know he had her support in this. He pressed an intercom on his desk.

“Please advise our guests the meeting is scheduled to being in 45 minutes. Conference room level B6. They should know what way.”

He didn't wait for a response, it wasn't as though it was up for discussion and he knew his request would be met. Setting the alarm on his phone for 30 minutes he rested his head against the chair and resolved to catch a few minutes sleep. Even though his mind didn't want to calm he’d learnt long ago to catch sleep where and when he could during situations like this.


	20. Strangers and introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Direct continuation as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever MyCitrusPocket is such a huge part of my writing process. She puts up with panicked messages and brainstorming sessions that confuse us both. She's my own ninja and I honestly couldn't do without her so thank you Kat from the bottom of my heart. She write awesome Mystrade fics that you definitely need to check out. No, really you do. 
> 
> Comments are always greatly received so please do leave a note if you want to. Thank you for the continuing support of the readers who keep coming back and commenting each time and for anyone who's started this with so many chapters already. 
> 
> Anyway, on with the show!

After Molly left Anthea made a few more calls. With the information Molly had given her, she was a little more at ease, but it was being busy that kept her together. Anthea knew they needed to get some sleep, two hours in as many days just wasn't enough to keep them effective at their work. It didn't mean she was ready to walk away from everything and leave it to others though; Anthea was as dedicated as Mycroft in that. That was probably why she’d outlasted any of his other assistants, progressing beyond merely helping Mycroft, to being given charge of her own operations when the situation called for it. The last thing she ever wanted to do was let Mycroft down, but she knew if he was ordering her and Greg to get some downtime, they needed it. The shit storm of a situation wasn't going to be resolved while she slept, but it wasn't being left dormant while she did either, that was the only thing that put her slightly at ease. The same way Mycroft needed her to take charge sometimes and make the decision regarding his health and well-being, she needed to understand that the same applied to her. So sleep is what she’d do, if she could wake his lordship, before he managed to completely seize up that was. Anthea moved to the side of the sofa and couldn't help but smile down at the sight of him, he was used to sleepless nights but it had been a brutal induction into her and Mycroft's world. Anthea hadn't been able to feel anything but unbelievable pride at the way he'd taken command when asked, walking with her into the volatile situation and keeping everything together. He had worked side by side with men who had been dealing with potentially catastrophic situations for many years, after having spent even longer learning the ropes. But Greg had shone even then and he was hers to be proud of. Anthea had seen him, commanding and certain in his actions and she couldn't deny even when she had been focused on containing the situation and arranging the next actions, she had been aware of his presence constantly.

 

Anthea tried to keep on top of everything as it happened, but there was so much it felt like it was constantly bombarding her brain. Sherlock, John, the virus, the discovery of the mastermind. The damn mastermind. Anthea knew the story, at least she knew some of it. It was hard to tell how much of the tale she was actually privy to, it was entirely probable that the only people who knew everything were Mycroft, Katharina Parker-DeWitt and the nameless and faceless people who had been Emmerson’s handlers. However, it appeared even they only had part truths and no one had known the man lived and as now bent on wreaking havoc.

Anthea's mind went once more to Sherlock, she’d seen him in some states in the past. She had monitored him when he was deep in the grip of his addiction, trying to lessen the burden on Mycroft as much as she could. Over the years she had grown to love him like a little brother, a very frustrating and difficult little brother but a brother all the same. On more than one occasion she had been forced to rush across London to get to him, calling emergency services on the way when he had overdosed or managed to get himself into a situation he couldn't get himself out of. His brilliance couldn't be denied, he was much like his brother in that respect, but he had lacked direction and focus, which had lead to his self destructive tendencies. He had kept them on their toes that was for sure. Then he’d met a dashing Detective Inspector and things had started to change, not just for him but for Mycroft and herself as well. The thought of Sherlock once more fighting for his life had her chest constricting and she had to reach out to Greg to centre herself again. Even with her touch he remained fast asleep, not even a slight indication of waking. His soft snoring was strangely normal and soothing, a little touch calm when everything else around them was far from it. 

Anthea thought of Mycroft, he glued them all together and still managed to take on the world. If anyone deserved a moment to fall apart it was him, but as soon as he entered the meeting he was going to chair, there would be no sign of vulnerable Mycroft Holmes, in his place would be the calm, lethal man the people outside of their family knew. The meeting about to take place was a feat in itself, an occurrence history would never be aware of, but it should be marked nevertheless. Arguably the most dangerous people in service to Queen and Country were all now together, here at Mycroft's request. None of them were people who could be ordered. No, he had simply called and without questions they had all responded to his call for help and arrived. Anthea knew that spoke of the power Mycroft held and the responsibility that came with it. She was in a position to see more than most, yet even she was in awe. Truly she wished she could be in the meeting, even if it was just to watch. However, Mycroft was right, she would be needed to spell him later so that he could sleep. That was her job, she just had to hold up her end of the bargain. She shook the hand that lay against Greg's back. His snoring turned to a snort but he didn't wake. Anthea hadn't been lying when she'd told Molly he was out for the count. Normally he was a light sleeper, but when he reached a certain point of tired, when he crashed, that was it. She'd seen it with some of the more horrific cases he’d been assigned over the past few years. He would survive on little more than coffee and cat naps for a week or more and then crash, his body pushed beyond its limits. When shaking alone didn't wake him, Anthea had to resort to calling his name. 

“Greg, honey. Come on. Wakey wakey.”

Still nothing, time to change tactics. Using her authoritarian voice, the one she knows when he's awake, instantly has him paying attention no matter what he’s doing. The voice that pulls him away from the football on the telly without complaint, that has him following as she leaves the room with a look of promise in her eyes. 

“Gregory Lestrade, get your ass up now!”

As she expected, his eyes opened and locked onto her immediately. Fear marked his face as he searched for problems, looking like he expected crushing news at any moment.

“Sherlock?” 

“No change, love. John’s with him. Molly has given the doctors as much help as she can, it's just waiting now. It’s our turn for a break, we’re going to go get some sleep, we’ve been instructed.”

There was still fog in his eyes as he groaned and creaked until he flopped onto his back, resting his knees over the arm of the sofa. Greg reached out an arm and pulling her off balance dragged her to lie on top of him. When he grunted as she landed, Anthea slapped at his chest lightly and frowned down at him but didn’t say anything after he apologised by pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“I was asleep.” 

“True, but if I leave you here you’ll seize up. Then I'd have to put up with your whinging.”

“I don't whine.”

“Of course not dear, you merely complain, a lot. But, it’s in a very manly fashion. Is that better?”

“Not really, but I’ll take it. You sure we can't stay here? I'm comfy now.”

With his arms around her waist, Greg pulled her further up his body until he could bury his face in her cleavage. Anthea let out a much needed chuckle at his actions, no matter what was happening he knew just how to make her feel that little bit better. She couldn’t control the yawn that escaped and Greg felt it shudder through her whole body. Anthea tensed and took a deep breath then let it out in a long exhale, her body going limp against him again. When he looked up she was blinking watery eyes brought on by the yawn. 

“You do make a superb mattress, but no. We both need a couple of hours of decent sleep, in the luxury of a comfy bed.”

Anthea's skirt rode up around her waist as she pushed herself to sitting to straddle his waist. She sat there looking down at him, her hands on her hips. As far as Greg was concerned she looked like his very own Wonder Woman, all she needed was the costume. The thought did cross his mind as to whether he’d be able to convince her to wear one if he got it, but he’d probably wait to bring that up. She didn't stay there long before she sighed and swung her leg over him to stand next to the sofa. Greg watched her intently as she wriggled her skirt back into place, covering the lacy top of her stockings. She'd lost her shoes at some point and padded around silently. Greg struggled from the sofa and took a moment to stretch some of the kinks out so he could walk without having to shuffle or groan with each step. Anthea winced as she heard his neck crack from across the room. Greg made his way to where she bustled around her desk, stuffing things into her Poppins-esque handbag. 

“We don't have to go far, do we?”

“Hmm? No, couple of doors down on the left.”

“Do we need to take everything from here or can we just lock the door?”

“We can lock the door…”

Greg took the few things she still had in her hand, grabbed her handbag that he knew contained the things she couldn’t do without and stuffed the last things inside. He hooked the fingers of his right hand into the back of her skirt. She squeaked in protest when he pulled her behind him and she was forced to walk backwards. Before they reached the door he swung her around in front of him, not letting go of her and guided her into the corridor.

“Woman, you will fidget away in there for hours if I let you. We don’t have that long, so directions please? There’s a bed calling our name. Which room is ours?”

“Wait, I need to get the door. I need the keys, they’re in my bag.”

Anthea made grasping motions with both hands, twisting around to try and reach it. Eventually she grasped the waistband of her skirt in both hands and held it in place until she’d turned in it completely to face him. The move had Greg’s hand now tucked against her stomach rather than her rear.

“Bag, Gregory! Now who’s wasting time?”

Avoiding the meltdown of frustrated and tired Anthea was priority. It was easy for him to see that if she kept working at this pace without a break, that she’d either lose her temper and quickly or just keel over where she stood. Greg handed her the bag dutifully, but kept hold of her in case she made a bid for escape and one last phone call. He waited tapping his foot before she finally turned and marched down the corridor. His hand still on the band of her skirt, she was jerked back slightly as it span once more so that he was pulled along behind her. He realised he could have let go and followed her easily, but he was quite happy as he was.

 

\-----(000)-----

Molly felt like a loose end. She’d done all she could do for the moment; John was finally with Sherlock, the doctors had all the information she could give them and Mycroft was in as good a place as she could get him right now. He had his own work to do and she knew Anthea and Greg were getting some much needed sleep. With her hands in her pockets and her feet slow, Molly wandered the halls for a while. No one stopped her, or even spoke to her as she worked her way through different levels and corridors that all looked the same. Though, even if anyone had given her strange looks or attempted to question her presence she wouldn’t have been able to say. Molly used the time to think and work off the nervous energy that still coursed through her, even as she felt herself becoming tired. She hadn’t really been able to do anything but react for what seemed like a very long time. There just hadn’t been the time for deep contemplation. Not with everything that she’d had to do in the warehouse and then the lab. After that the only thing permeating her mind had been worry about the wellbeing of everyone else. It was a dangerous thing, time; too much or too little, both carried with them their own problems. Molly wasn't sure where she was or how much time had passed when she came across a room that made her stop in her tracks. She’d walked through an open door drawn by the enticing scent of coffee, but hadn’t really been paying attention to her surroundings. Everything had been battleship grey walls and concrete floors, nothing changing but the painted location numbers on the walls. The sudden change immediately stopped her in her tracks when she saw the room. Stepping back into the doorway she leant back and looked left and right, no, she was still in the bunker who knows how far below ground. Confused she walked forwards again, so long as she wasn’t hallucinating this was a very fancy and very sumptuous ball room like affair. Large round tables surrounded by elegant chairs were spread over the plush red carpet and beautiful oil paintings hung in heavy gilt frames against dark wood panelling on the walls. It was like entering a gentlemen’s club and as she walked further into the room, Molly looked around in awe. She half expected someone to stop her, but no one came forwards. It didn’t look like there was anyone around, the smell of coffee though was fresh and drew her through the plush surroundings towards a set of double doors that were wedged open. As she got closer she could see a pristine white tiled kitchen full of shining stainless steel equipment. There was an extremely fancy coffee machine sitting to one side and she headed towards it as though it pulled her in.

“Hello gorgeous, well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

Molly never thought she’d be thankful for the one horrendous summer she’d spent as a barista in a posh coffee shop when she was in college. She was definitely glad of it now, faced with this monstrous machine. With an expectant sigh she set about making two large steaming coffees. Knowing he needed a bit of pampering she made Mycroft’s extra creamy and extra sweet, just the way he liked it. He didn’t indulge in coffee very often purely because of the way he preferred to drink it, so he mostly drank tea with a little milk and no sugar. She figured today might be an occasion he deserved to treat himself and he could use the sugar and caffeine to keep going. Molly rationalised to herself that she’d worry about feeding him real food when this was all over and they were at home. She heard a faint laugh behind her and spun around, startled by the sudden appearance of another person. 

Kat couldn’t help but laugh. She’d only gone in search of coffee after her shower, knowing Mycroft would probably take the opportunity to grab a couple of minutes sleep and she was running ahead of schedule anyway. She'd headed in the direction she knew there used to be a kitchen, hoping it was still there. She hadn’t expected a show with the coffee mind you. But there in front of her was a small woman in a white lab coat, talking to a coffee machine.

“I don't think speaking to it nicely is what makes it work. But if you know any witchcraft that will make that monstrosity produce coffee, I'd be forever grateful.” 

Molly smiled at the woman. This was clearly a communal space and she'd been able to smell recently brewed coffee when she entered so she shouldn't be surprised that someone else had sought out the source either.

“You might be in luck. I have just enough tricks up my sleeve to grant your wish.” 

Molly found disposable cups in the cupboard beneath the machine, the rest of the supplies she needed were laid out across the counter in front of her. The woman didn't speak for a long time, a pause long enough to have Molly feeling uncomfortable as she worked on making the drinks. If she hadn't been able to feel the woman staring at her back she would have sworn she had left, but Molly could also see a blurred reflection in the brushed steel of the coffee machine. She started to feel a little uneasy as the silence stretched uncomfortably between them and she didn't feel particularly secure with the woman at her back. The drinks however weren’t going to make themselves and she was eager to get to Mycroft with coffee for him.

There was something familiar about the newcomer that teased at the edges of Molly's mind, the thought just there out of reach. It took a while, almost to the point where the cups were getting the last top up’s until Molly realised that she has the same air to her that she saw in Mycroft sometimes. That “I'm looking like I'm relaxed, but I'm ready to strike at any moment.” look. Rather than having to wander around aimlessly, with rapidly cooling coffee, Molly realised this was probably a person who could help her find Mycroft. There was no way in a place like this, that someone like her wouldn’t know where to find him. Deciding one of them had to break the tension and with little sign that the other woman was going to do it, she turned around settling her hip against the counter while she waited for the espresso shots to finish. A question was the safest option, something she would have to answer. 

“How do you take it?” 

“Nothing fancy thanks, straight and black and thick like mud if possible. I could do with all the caffeine I can get.” 

The woman smiled, Molly realised she still didn't have name. No introduction, nothing and while the woman hadn't done anything that would normally arouse suspicion, there was just something that had Molly on alert. She didn't know if it was taboo in this covert underground world to introduce yourself or ask names. What would be the point if they just had to give false names that everyone knew were false? Molly wished at times like this, that she was better at small talk. Sadly is seemed she wasn’t going to have a breakthrough any time soon.  
Kat looked over the elfin woman, pretty but hidden under the most uncoordinated, unflattering clothes she'd ever seen, the eye watering outfit then all topped off with a white lab coat. She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself, she didn’t come across them often but she didn’t think she would ever understand scientists. When the little woman spoke, Kat was more than a little surprised at her directness. 

“So, what brings you here?” 

As soon as the words emerged Molly cringed inwardly, probably not the best thing to ask a potential assassin or spy and yes it was probably an incredibly useless question to ask when you were somewhere like this. She waited for the woman to answer expecting the worst, but it never came. The woman simply shrugged.

“Work. You?”

Molly waited a moment, not certain how much she was supposed to say. No one had introduced the woman and call her cynical but she wasn’t feeling the most trusting. It was the same question she’d just asked but she was reluctant to answer. Vague, she thought. Just go with vague. 

“The same, I just found this place on my travels. I was trying to locate Mr Holmes.”

“Mycroft Holmes?”

Molly wasn’t surprised that she knew Mycroft, he was the big fish down here after all. Of course she’d know who he was.

“One and the same. I don’t suppose you know which way his office is from here, do you?”

Kat didn’t ask which office she meant; she doubted the little mousey woman had the clearance to know most of the secrets of this place. She didn’t know what information this little scientist held but it seemed information wise, both of them were holding their cards close to their chests. But if she was looking for Mycroft it must be important and considering she wore a lab coat it might be to do with Sherlock. That she had stopped to make coffee though suggested the information wasn’t time sensitive and she had already set two cups on the counter, so taking him coffee? It suggested at least a passing acquaintance, but she couldn’t get close enough to look for further clues. Kat recognised the posture that suggested the little woman would bolt at the first sign of trouble. But, if the information she had to recount was related to Sherlock, Mycroft would want to know as soon as possible. Kat would make sure she found him and would deliver her safely and quickly to his door. She would also use the extra time in her company to see what extra information she could find out. Mycroft didn’t really have time to be dealing with anything that wasn’t crucial. 

“Hi, sorry, where are my manners? I'm Katharina Parker-DeWitt Call me Kat. You have news regarding the status of Sherlock Holmes?” 

Molly narrowed her eyes slightly, what did she know about Sherlock? What business was it of hers? She felt the bristling mother inside her starting to ruffle her feathers.

“Dr Molly Hooper, I have information Mr Holmes will want to hear.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“He is aware of the likelihood that I would stop by.”

Kat snorted in her head. Molly Hooper had guts she’d give her that. She met her eyes without hesitation but she wasn’t giving her any more information and she wasn’t backing down. In fact, Kat would almost say the woman was getting ready to go toe to toe with her at a moment’s notice, definitely intriguing. She was answering her questions without actually telling Kat a damn thing. She grudgingly admitted it was an admirable skill. But she wasn’t even nearly in the league of people Kat “broke” frequently, having them singing like the proverbial canary in no time. It was one of her specialities, she didn’t want to make an enemy of the doctor but she would push if she needed to.

“Very well, Doctor. I'm heading to that floor now, I'll show you the way, least I can do to say thank you for my coffee.”

Molly returned her attention to the drinks, quickly finishing them and snapping lids on to the cups so they wouldn’t spill. Quickly she rinsed the items she’d used. Begging forgiveness from the person that would have to clean up after her, it rankled her to leave them but she didn’t imagine her guide would wait while she sorted everything out. 

She handed Kat her drink and wordlessly indicated the door when she had collected the remaining drinks. She followed closely at Kat’s heels. Very aware should the woman choose, she could abandon her in these halls. She seemed protective of Mycroft and suspicious of Molly. While she was always grateful people had Mycroft's back. It had been a long and trying day and her patience was running thin. Her guide strolled quite happily along the corridors, one hand in her pocket the other lifting the cup to her lips every so often so she could sip at the hot brew. She didn't try to engage Molly in any more conversion and they slipped into a silence that, if not comfortable was at least mutual. Molly was glad she had found her reluctant guide, she doubted she’d have been able to find the place on her own. She followed without really noticing where they were going and almost walked into Kat’s back when she abruptly stopped. With the hand that contained her coffee she indicated the door they stood directly in front of. 

Molly nodded her thanks and moved forwards just about to use her elbow to open it when a hand grasped her bicep. Molly fought back the very real urge to jerk away from the contact and instead calmed herself and turned her head with a frown on her face. 

“He's sleeping doctor, not the best move to startle him if you want to make it out again.”

Molly's agitation was showing again and she didn't really try to hide it. 

“Thank you for your concern and help navigating these corridors, I wouldn't want to waste anymore of your time.”

Well that was a dismissal if ever Kat had heard one. This little doctor had backbone, she’d give her that. She kept her face straight but she was looking forward to this. She always had been a fan of fireworks of the Holmes variety.

 

She leant back against the wall, shaking her coffee to stir the drink she rested one booted foot against the wall and settling in for a show. Taking a sip of the hot drink she nodded to Molly Hooper to carry on. It would be a shame, she seemed like a nice person but it was her funeral if she wouldn't listen. She watched the door close and waited, and waited some more, longer than she would have thought possible, but still no fireworks. Very strange indeed. 

 

\-----(000)-----

 

Molly let herself into Mycroft's office, she slid round the door eyeing the strange woman until the door was safely shut again. Juggling the cups, thankful she'd used the lids, she flipped the lock and turned around, pressing her back to the door. She didn't see the woman as a large threat but she was rather strange.  
Turning around she saw that Mycroft was asleep, just like Kat had said. Molly did wonder how she knew that, but she also knew there would never be anything for her to worry about when it came to his fidelity. Mycroft looked rather uncomfortable, his head was tilted sideways at an awkward angle so that his breathing came in snuffling puffs. She was torn between letting him sleep while he could, or waking him up before he got a crick in his neck. Placing the coffee cups quietly on his desk she climbed on the edge. Gingerly she crawled across the surface being careful not to knock anything off as she went until she could sit in front of him, spreading her legs to settle either side of his chair, but careful not to touch. Her presence may not wake him, but jostling him would. Picking up her drink, she gently blew across the steaming cup. The smell of coffee must have reached him, as he took a deep breath through his nose and opened his eyes. Instantly his attention snapped to her and then to the coffee she held. She was at least glad that he’d seen her first. Mycroft planted his feet and dragged his chair closer to the desk, sliding tight between Molly’s legs until she could rest her feet on to the arms of his chair and help pull him closer. Molly grabbed his coffee and pressed it into his hand as he leant towards her. With him so close, Molly took the opportunity to press a kiss to his forehead. Mycroft held his cup in one hand and ran the other up and down the outside of her thigh as he spent a few minutes just enjoying her company and his coffee. 

Once the coffee began to work its magic, Mycroft became more alert. His hand stilled, tucked in behind her knee. As ticklish as Molly was, only time had taught him the right amount of pressure his hand needed to rest with. Too little and she'd be squealing and recoiling from the unbearable sensations. When they played, and Mycroft Holmes was very capable of playing in the right situation, he’d pin her and torment her with fingers that were extremely skilled at making her scream both in ecstasy and excited panic depending on his mood. 

Mycroft glanced to the clock on the wall, grimacing at how little time he had to sit and enjoy Molly’s presence. Now more than ever he needed the balm her presence offered, but like some cruel joke, now he didn't have the time to hide away with her. Kat would be back any minute and he wished to introduce the two women. More accurately he wanted to show Molly off, he supposed. He was so thankful she was in his life, he wanted to show his oldest friend just what his life had become. That amongst the dark clouds there was always a sunny day and Molly was most definitely his brightest of days. It was he who broke the comfortable silence.

“I went to see Sherlock.”

Molly covered the hand on her thigh with her own. Wrapping her fingers with his she pushed all the comfort she could through the contact.

“I know love, I saw you.”

“I'm going to fix this, Molly. I called for help. People we can trust and who can help us finish this part of our lives. Specialists, Molly. The top of their fields who came immediately merely because I asked. There is one in particular I would like to introduce you to. She is my oldest friend, not a title I use freely as you are aware. She was for a long time my only friend. We met a long time ago, at the very beginning of our careers. No matter what else has happened, she has remained a constant feature in my life for the last twenty years. I called and she flew halfway around the world without even knowing why I called or what I was asking of her.”

Molly thought about the woman she'd met, the similarities she’d seen between Mycroft and her. Her encounter with her had been strange enough for Molly to question it in her mind. When she took into account the woman's display of protectiveness and knowledge of Mycroft's location and that she knew he slept. She was a very likely candidate.

“I think I might already have met her. I left a woman in the corridor, no idea if she’s still there mind you.” 

Mycroft looked at Molly, frowning as he did so. He stood and walked across the room, opening the door with a raised brow he saw Kat standing there, where Molly had left her. One booted foot resting on the wall, a coffee cup dangling from her hand by her side. She waggled her fingers at him and smirked, he rolled his eyes and jerked his head at her.

“In.” 

Pushing herself from the wall she sauntered past him. Kat immediately saw Molly still perched on the desk and turned, her eyebrows raised and questions all over her face to look to Mycroft for an explanation. He strolled back to his chair behind his desk, dropping a kiss to Molly’s head as he passed.

“Kat, this is my Molly. Molly, Kat, trusted friend and part time sidekick.”

To be fair, Kat took the revelation in her stride. She continued to watch Mycroft but he speech never halted and he would be forever thankful she decided not to make a scene at his disclosure. 

“Sidekick? Really, Holmes? I think you may have it the wrong way round! Molly, I’m sorry if I gave you a hard time before, I had no idea. Please forgive me?”

“The same, I’m sorry too. I’m not usually rude.” 

Molly couldn't hide the shock on her face and her jaw dropped. Public display of affection and referring to her as “his Molly”? She never thought he'd introduce her like that and it sent a thrill through her. Yes she knew what they had was love. But to hear him declare it in front of someone not in their little family she wasn’t sure she’d ever even thought about it. Partner, significant other? She wasn't really sure how to refer to each other, as it had never really come up it hadn't crossed her mind, he was her Mycroft. Beyond that she'd never really contemplated the label she'd attribute to their relationship. Yes, she'd thought about the future and yes, she saw them as husband and wife some point in the future but as far as she knew they were a while from that yet. Mycroft had in his very own way, just declared them a couple in public.

 

Kat wasn't sure who was more shocked, her or Molly. The look on the doctor’s faces suggested she was as surprised by Mycroft’s declaration as she was. Kat grinned and slapped Mycroft on the back before dropping into a chair on the other side of the desk. 

Though the world waited outside and each of them was aware of the serious nature of the situation around them, they needed this last moment of calm before it all started again. Until the meeting concluded, there was nothing else they could do and they needed the distraction. Easy conversation flowed and they allowed it, pushing everything to the back of their minds for these short few minutes. 

Molly stayed seated on the desk. The chairs were occupied and Mycroft didn't seem to mind her where she was. She could feel herself winding down and the exhaustion that she'd been fighting quickly started to overtake her. She tried to hide the yawns and the rolls of her eyes but as ever Mycroft could read her like the proverbial book and noticed almost immediately.

“Is there anything you need to do, Molly? Or can you rest for a while?”

With another yawn Molly couldn't stop it to speak. She had to settle for shaking her head behind her hand, as she tried not to dislocate her jaw with the strength of the stretch.

“Time to get some sleep beautiful, it's been a long day. Kat and I have the meeting to attend shortly, it will likely last for several hours. Come along, you can use my room here, ours until we leave.”

“Yours?”

“Yes, one of the perks of the job. It's quite comfortable I assure you. Kat, wait here?”

“I'm good here, come get me when you're ready to go.”

“Thank you, Kat. I will return for you shortly.”

As Mycroft herded Molly out of the room, he saw Kat pick up the remains of his coffee. He barely contained his laughter when she winced on taking her first sip of his sweet and creamy beverage, his preference the exact opposite of hers. But like any good soldier she sucked it up and continued to sip at it. At the end of the day caffeine was caffeine and you didn't turn your nose up at it however it came, especially when you didn't know when you’d next get the chance. Even here when she could have her cup refilled whenever she wanted, it was a hard habit to break.

Once they were in the corridor and despite the cameras Mycroft wrapped his arm around Molly's waist. There was no point being distant, everyone here knew her importance and were tasked with protecting her with their lives if the need should arise. He held her close and nudged her down the corridor. They were still too far above the city for him to be comfortable, as well as having several offices in the complex he also had several bedrooms available for his use. One in the centre, several levels below the surface should be secure enough for him to concentrate on the meeting without worrying too much. 

When they arrived he swung the door open and ushered her inside, flicking the lights on as he went. He collided with Molly's back as she drew to a halt just inside the door. Immediately on alert, Mycroft scanned the room searching for threats and kicking himself for allowing her to enter first. When she spoke her voice held a combination of wonder and confusion.

“What the hell is this place, My? One minute it's all battleship grey, then it's like stepping down a rabbit hole and finding a ballroom. Are you hiding a five star hotel down here?”

He hadn't really considered how this place would look to someone unfamiliar with locations such as this. Admittedly, the thick dark carpeting beneath their feet and the luxurious four poster bed spilling over with plush pillows and a wonderfully thick duvet, didn't exactly scream hidden bunker.

“It was built during the Second World War. Designed to act as a secure, covert base of operations should it be required. This is only one of many we have scattered throughout the city and country as a whole. Designed to house the most important cabinet members and strategists, a base for the mounting of a defence had things not gone in our favour.”

“Did they really need five star luxury in a situation like that?”

“Delicate flowers, Molly. There could be no “roughing it” for our illustrious leaders.” 

“And now you have the choicest suite. My own delicate flower, are you?”

“Only the best for you, my dearest.”

“Well I won't complain then. Be warned though, I could get used to this.”

Mycroft sobered slightly. Drawn out of their short distraction, he was instantly serious.

“Anything you want, Molly. You need only speak and I will do all within my power to provide it for you.”

Molly stepped closer to him, crowding his space. Tilting her head to look up at him and reaching her hands out to slide them under his jacket and rest against his waist. 

“The only thing I will ever need is you. Everything else is window dressing. You’re it for me, Mycroft. Whether we live in the townhouse or a box somewhere, it won't matter so long as you're with me.”

He didn't know what to say to that, she took his breath away. Words escaping him, he did the only thing he could. Mycroft leant down to see his lips to hers and was still searching for the right words when she solved the problem for him. Breaking the silence and reminding him of his schedule.

“The door locks right?”

“Of course but you are safe here, Molly. I am doing everything I can to make sure you are safe. I know I have done a poor job of it so far but I will not lose you.” 

“You are doing better than anyone else could even dare hope. But lock the door after you, I'm not opening it unless it’s you or Anthea or Greg. I need to go back to Sherlock and John in a while but I can’t be strong right now, I need to sleep and can't think straight when I'm tired. I'm not even sure what time or day it is anymore.”

 

“I believe it is Sunday night. I've had some clothes brought here from home. I'm not sure what they will have retrieved but I requested our dressing gowns.”

“Ooh yours is here? Where? Can I have it?”

“Anything you desire. I imagine you will find it in the bathroom. Anthea arranged it all, I should think she remembered anything we could possibly have wanted.”

Molly practically ran to the bathroom and as Mycroft had guessed, hanging on the back of the door was his silk robe. Not the most practical of items down here with its controlled temperature and assisted airflow but Molly knew Anthea. The robe had not been brought for Mycroft, his heavier more suitable robe hung next to this one in their bathroom at home, that would have been the more practical choice, yet here it hung. Anthea had seen her wearing the silk one often enough, enough that she had arranged for it to be brought. Anthea had especially seen her wearing it when Mycroft was out of town, and Molly needed the comfort. Molly quickly stripped down to her underwear, laying her clothes over the side of the large bath she wrapped herself tightly in the navy blue silk robe. Tying the belt securely she quickly brushed her teeth before heading back to the bedroom. 

Mycroft was sitting with his back to the headboard, he had his feet crossed at the ankles, hanging off the edge of the bed as he still wore his shoes. Molly knew he couldn't stay but still felt a pang of regret at that. She did know that he would stay as long as he could but that wasn't very long at all. Perhaps another five minutes if he pushed it and he was more than willing to push his deadlines or anything for Molly. 

“Up you come, I can stay for a moment longer. It is my meeting to chair after all.”

Molly scrambled up onto the bed quickly, making sure to keep the robe wrapped tightly around her. When Mycroft patted the mattress where he’d pulled he duvet back she slid between the smooth cotton sheets, when he pulled the covers up around she couldn't hold back the moan that ended up muffled by the pillow. 

“No feathers.”

Though she knew she shouldn't, Molly couldn't help snuggling closer to Mycroft's side rubbing her cheek against his thigh as she went.

“You have to go, My.” 

Mycroft sighed and he sounded so truly tired it made Molly feel so incredibly guilty. Here he was making sure she got sleep and was comfortable, but he still had to carry on for who knew how many hours. She knew this was what he did but it didn't make her feel any better. He threaded his fingers in her hair.

“I know. Soon Molly, soon we will be able to sleep. Together and safe in our bed without a worry or care in the world.”

“I have never doubted you My, I’m not going to now. You’ll fix this because it is who you are and I'll be here and waiting when you're done. I'll always be here and waiting, but those people, the ones in a meeting room waiting for you now? I don't know if they will, and the world outside? It's not going to wait either. So go on love, go to your team of superheroes and save the world. But know that I am always here and waiting however long it takes.”

With her final words she nudged him with her head, just twice but it was enough to have him slowly rising from the bed. Molly continued to look up at his from her warm cocoon of sheets, her eyes getting heavier by the moment. Mycroft leant down and pressed his lips to hers. Not hot and heavy, not fuelled by lust. It was a kiss of love, full of promises for the future and it warmed both of them enough to carry on. With one last pause at the doorway to look at Molly, he quietly closed the door and locked it at her request.

\-----(000)-----

 

Someone brought John a more comfortable chair, he didn't know who had brought it or even when it had appeared, but it didn't matter. Once he noticed it he pulled it as close as it would go, he clutched Sherlock’s chart in one hand his other holding Sherlock’s. It made going through the information somewhat difficult but he wasn't letting go any time soon. Nothing had changed for the better in the time he had been sitting there but he wasn't going to give up on him. His faith in Sherlock had always been unwavering, he couldn't let doubt slip in and erode it now. Not when he needed it the most.  
The familiar beeping sounds that had settled into the background started to lull John in to drowsiness. He tried to fight the bobbing of his head but he was losing. The one thing that didn't change was his grip on Sherlock’s limp hand. 

 

\-----(000)-----

Leaving Molly, Mycroft walked swiftly back to his office to collect Kat. As usual Molly was right, as much as he had wanted to stay, their deadline was fast approaching and time was not a luxury they possessed anymore. The door to the office was open, and Kat sat exactly where he’d left her, but her head was tilted back against the back of the chair and her feet were crossed at the ankles and resting on the desk. 

“Do make yourself at home.”

Without opening her eyes she countered him easily.

“Do leave me waiting.”

“Touché. Shall we proceed?”

“Just waiting for you, boss.”

She slung her legs off the desk and with long practiced ease jumped up from the chair. Dropping her cup in the bin as she passed, she walked straight past Mycroft, not waiting for him to fall into step beside her. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes he matched her pace easily. As they walked, Kat kept glancing in his direction and quickly looking away. 

“Do say whatever is on the tip of your tongue, Katharina. You appear to almost be in pain.” 

“She's good for you.”

“She is.”

“I'm glad you're not alone”

 

Mycroft heard an unfamiliar tone in her voice, vulnerability wholly not Kat. He stopped and laid his hand on her arm to get her to follow suit. He made her face him but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. In the past, even with Kat, he would most likely have dismissed the longing in her voice. Now though, he had a new perspective. 

 

“Are you lonely, Kat? Speak candidly, please.” 

“At times, I'm going to be too old for this soon. I'm going to have to come up with something to do.” 

“Come here, work with me. I realise you have never previously desired a position behind a desk, though perhaps now it is time to start leading rather than following, Kat.”

“Let's get this done. When everything is dealt with, I'll think about it, ok? “ 

“Take all the time you require, the offer remains on the table for as long as you need it to be.” 

Now they stood side by side in the lift, their faces shining back at them in the mirrored walls. Kat raised a hand to her face and stared at her reflection, noting the lines lying in the corners of her eyes marking the passing years. Her skin tanned from desert sun. 

“When did we get so old, Mycroft? Do you ever regret what we gave up to be who we are? The things we missed?”

“We are not that old, but it does sneak up on one somewhat. Do I regret the decisions we made? No. However, I find myself now with more than we even dared dream about on those cold nights under desert stars. Perhaps though, now is not the time for an existential crisis.”

“Sorry, it's been an interesting day. Hopping halfway round the world after a phone call and Hunter. Well yes, you know. You've changed Mycroft, for the better. Happiness looks good on you, even with everything that's happening. You look at her and it’s like suddenly the burden isn't quite so heavy.”

“Can you do this?”

The anger he knew his calculated response would inspire, flashed through her. Manipulating her was perhaps not the best way to go but she could question everything later. He knew as soon as they stepped into the meeting she would be nothing but the ultimate lethal professional. 

“Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Mycroft Holmes. But thank you. Let’s get this show on the road.”

As the lift announced its arrival at their designated floor, both Mycroft and Kat, took a deep breath and with one last shared look, the shutters came down.


	21. Voices from the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to everyone who reads this. We're in to the last sections of this story with probably about 5 chapters to go, I say probably because this thing has a life of its own. I hope if you've made it this far you'll stay til the end. 
> 
> My deepest thanks go to my faitful editor and friend MyCitrusPocket, I couldn't do it without her steadying influence. Thanks Gumbie xx

When Mycroft walked into the meeting with Kat following closely behind, the men in the room fell silent. Kat was used to being the only female in this male dominated world but she had earned their respect and each of them knew her by reputation if not in person. While Mycroft remained standing behind his seat at the head of the table, Kat took her seat on his right hand side.

Now they showed a unite force before the eight men gathered at his request, gone were the people they had been outside of the walls. There was no jovial word play, their faces now rested in long trusted masks of indifferent expressions that gave nothing away. The speed with which each of them could completely alter their personalities was something that had taken many years of practice to perfect, but they would always be the consummate professional when it came to business.

Looking around him Mycroft noted the faces that looked back at him. All of them gathered at short notice by his request. Some of them very familiar to him, others he hadn't seen in a long time. Then there were the ones he had never actually been in the same room as, all of their contact and work having been conducted via satellite link, phone call or third party. It was a surreal situation when he thought about it, the decisions he made for these men literally could mean the difference between life and death and he had in some cases made those decisions without ever having shaken their hands. Seeing them now put everything they had been through together into sharp focus. The skill set represented around the conference table was quite simply staggering; these people were the best in their fields and were most certainly the right support to call in an emergency such as this. There was a tension in the air, not between the people themselves, but a strange cross between excitement and trepidation and it was almost palpable within the room. It was a familiar feeling to them all and it promised either great or monstrous things to come. It wasn't exactly clear which one they hoped for, or whether they realised that themselves.

 

“Thank you for coming here today and agreeing to meet with us, it is most appreciated. Gentlemen, we have a crisis event looming over our heads and I require your assistance to make sure it never comes to fruition.”

Placed in front of each seat was a hastily, though well compiled file that outlined the situation in bare facts; enough to have given them somewhat of an insight into the situation before they began. The room was dim, the large light that hung over the dark mahogany table cast interesting shadows across the walls. This secure room hidden away from the light of day had been designed with high priority and sensitive meetings in mind, making sure the security protocols were in place to secure the room from prying eyes and ears Mycroft took his seat.

“I am sure you have all read or at least glanced through the files before you. Those are the facts as they stand, it should be enough for you to make your decisions. Unfortunately the time scale on the main part of this operation is extremely close. Assuming our intel is correct and that we have identified the intended target, we have approximately 24 hours to contain this part of the situation. I require your expertise gentlemen; we need your contacts and your ability to get the job done. I apologise for the lateness with which you have been apprised of the situation, but I am aware each of you enjoys a challenge with a deadline.”

Muted laughter flowed around the room. This situation, so precarious that it would send most people running for the hills, was the comfort zone of each of the specialists here. They would be unlikely to pass mental health evaluations, but then again which of them would? They were perfect for this mission, with the outcome predicted so very much not in their favour. They understood each other, being so different to the rest of the population, even to the rest of the agencies they worked for. Their differences held them together as a unit, all be it a distant and fragmented one. They looked to Mycroft for instruction and support should they need it and offered him the same in return. Their laughter told him that despite what they had read in the file, that they were willing to at least listen to what he had to say. Before he could speak again, one of the gathered spoke up from where he slumped in his seat.

 

“You always give us the most exciting jobs, Mycroft.”

 

“It is true, I would not wish for you to become too complacent, Max. If I leave you dormant long enough you have a tendency to become a little, unmanageable.”

Max contemplated for a moment before turning his lips down at the corners and nodding his head sagely in agreement.

“True, very true and I’ve not had a job for weeks, Boss.”

“Then you should be refreshed for the thrill of the chase on this one. Containing this is proving a challenge, with the increased time frame, doubly so. Somewhere within the city, is a number of dispersal devices filled with a modified strain of Spanish Influenza. Unfortunately we have had a preview of the effects of the virus which leaves us with no doubt that should it be released, there will be catastrophic loss of life. It is our job to make sure that does not happen. Regrettably we need to also be prepared to minimise the transmission and spread of said virus should we not be able to prevent the attack.”

All eyes were on Mycroft, unwavering in their intensity as they listened with focused concentration. Each person unnaturally still as they absorbed all the details he had to give them. Updating them with the background information and bringing them up to date with everything they had compiled over the last week. Details of their encounters with Hirsch and the team of mercenaries, the doctor’s work and finally culminating in the last piece of information regarding the mastermind.

“The most recent development indicates that this is not a random act of terrorism, but is instead a very well orchestrated attack with personal motivations. Voice files recovered from the warehouse laboratory indicate the person responsible for this situation is Hunter Emmerson.”

 

As soon as he said the name there were several murmurs and more than one look of incredulity. Most of the men in the room had heard the name before. A whispered tale amongst the members of their profession, in a world of secrets Hunter had been a superb asset and since his reported death he had become a legend. In truth, the stories regarding the three of them, Hunter, Kat and Mycroft, were spoken of in hushed and almost reverent tones. In the beginning they were the bogey men, younger agents in training and just starting out were told the tales, they were the people to look up to. At least they had been, if it was indeed Hunter, then that would change and quickly. If what they had learned was the truth then he had become the worst thing someone in their position could be, he had done the unspeakable and become their antithesis. He was potentially the threat to protect against and Mycroft's mind still rebelled against the idea. With the memory of his friend so very strong in his mind, he could not tally the past and possible present.

“We have not yet been able to confirm if this is the truth. As you may be aware, Emmerson was classified deceased during a mission twenty years ago. There have been no indications other than the recovered audio file containing this name to suggest that the report of his death is anything but the truth. Until further notice, we assume that this name means nothing. We already have teams investigating the likely hood that Emmerson survived. Our main priority at this time is locating the canisters and preventing the attack. Once this threat is eliminated we will have more time to approach the tracking and capture of the person orchestrating everything. Are there any questions?”

“What actions are authorised?”

Mycroft looked across the table to the seat where the question came from. Kendo, frequent mission partner to Max was at the same time his complete. His dour nature was so very different to the often jovial character of his partner, they shouldn’t work so well together but they balanced each other perfectly. As a pair they were some of the best assets he had known in a long time. They were his assets, ones he worked with most frequently and they legitimately came under the umbrella of his department. Admittedly they would never be listed as assets of course, Mycroft wasn’t actually sure what Anthea had them listed as but it didn’t matter, he didn’t doubt their cover story was absolute.

“Lethal force is permitted to ensure the package is secured, should the mercenaries be eliminated in the process? One could say it would be a bonus. However, each of you needs to be aware that should this operation fail, it will be as though we never existed. The situation, the knowledge and we ourselves will be denied completely. This mission is voluntary, I thank you for being willing to come this far but I will not force you to take this mission with what I would ask you to risk. ”

Kendo nodded once, as though that information was enough to answer all the questions he might have had. Mycroft saw Max and Kendo exchange a look, brief but apparently that was all it took. Kendo spoke again, this time for them both.

“We’re in, Boss.”

Glancing at the rest of the men at the table Mycroft saw as he met each of their eyes they also gave him a brief incline of the head in response. For the first time in days he allowed himself to feel a small amount of relief. It appeared he had his team, he just needed to have faith in them and their ability to do the seemingly impossible.

 

\--

After an hour long discussion in the meeting room, it had been decided they would move to ops to continue their planning. They needed access to phones and computers in order to formulate their plans and action them as swiftly as their time scale demanded, the operations room was the obvious choice. The teams Mycroft had assigned to tracking the canisters from the warehouse had come and gone, seamlessly handing over the pertinent information; they would continue to work the angles but would now work directly under the instruction of the experienced team, supporting them with whatever was required.

The team had effortlessly divided into groups, each being assigned a certain part of the mission to deal with that related to each of their personal expertise. Despite being younger than many of the people in the room with fewer years of service to his name, Max had quickly shown himself to be a natural leader of men. Jokes aside he set to working with Mycroft to expedite this planning stage. Though the planning was necessary, they were all well aware how critical it was to get out into the field and do what they did best. As the minutes passed, men began to leave the room. Some in pairs, others alone, they had their instructions. The tasks were divided and would be conquered in smaller slices until the whole was devoured by their actions.

When Mycroft's phone rang, there remained only a handful of people in the room besides Kat and himself. Support staff working the small tasks that would aid the field teams, Max and Kendo both hunched over computer terminals typing furiously in staccato bursts. Maps of London and the surrounding areas showed on the screens that lined the walls. Certain areas were highlighted others dismissed, all in an effort to close the possible target search areas. They were updated as information was fed to them from the outside world. The text of real time updates flew across screens causing light to flicker in the room. Mycroft stood in the middle of it all, a conductor surrounded by his orchestra.

Stepping back from the centre table Mycroft lifted the phone from his pocket, frowning as the screen displayed merely a phone number and not a name. An unknown number? Such a thing should not be possible. The number for this phone was only known to a select few and all of those and a great many more were known to him. He didn't answer straight away, instead turning to the room.

“Gentlemen, if you would be so kind?”

Without a word each chair was vacated and those who stood turned and headed immediately for the door filing from the room quickly and efficiently. Mycroft placed a hand on Kat’s shoulder, halting her rise from her seat. Shaking his head briefly, he indicated his desire for her to stay as she was. Trepidation settled deep in his gut, instinct warning him that this call was going to be a difficult one. As the door clicked shut leaving Kat and he alone with the ringing phone, Mycroft tapped his thumb to the green answer icon on the screen. He moved the handset to his ear but didn't speak.

“I must say I expected greater punctuality from you, Mycroft. Have you changed so very much?”

Mycroft controlled himself, but it took tremendous willpower. Anger, disbelief and disappointment flowed through him at hearing the once familiar voice again. Until that moment he had harboured a small amount of hope that the doctor had been wrong, that the name he had did not belong to the friend from Mycroft's past. Hope that the Hunter Emmerson the doctor knew, was not his long dead friend. But with this call he could delude himself no longer.

“Not going to speak, Mycroft? Not going to ask how I managed to get this number? I will admit it took some finding, but there is nothing money can't buy. Everyone has their price Mycroft, you just need enough money to be able to grease the wheels. Morals and loyalty mean nothing when there are enough zero’s on the end of a number you are willing to pay someone.”

“Not everyone can be bought, Hunter.”

“It doesn't have to be everyone, just the right one, as this conversation proves. Who can you trust, Mycroft? I've seeded the doubt now, haven't I?”

Mycroft wouldn't let the poisoned words take root. He wouldn't begin to doubt those closest to him. There was no need to suspect those with the greatest contact with him after all. The number Hunter had called was strictly his professional contact accessible to a far wider group than his personal number. They already suspected they had a low level informant, this merely concreted the fact.

“What do you want, Hunter? Why have you waited all these years?”

“Unlike you, I've never forgotten our promise, Mycroft. We were supposed to watch out for each other, be the other’s safety net. But you abandoned me!”

Mycroft started to pace back and forth across the room as he talked. The movement helped him maintain his poise. He would not give Hunter the satisfaction of hearing him lose control. As with everything he had planned, this was another attempt at making Mycroft lose his grip on the situation. He would not allow it. It may have happened to the younger man Hunter had known, but the man Mycroft had become was a very different creature.

 

“You were confirmed deceased, lost on mission, file closed. A possibility we all knew was likely for us. I looked for you but you cut yourself off, Hunter. No trail to follow, no clues to suggest you lived. You went dark and didn't call for help, what was I supposed to think?”

“You weren't supposed to be so fucking stupid, Mycroft! You should have had faith in my abilities. Question for once in your damn life the information you were given. Where was your loyalty to me? Lost in lies for your own benefit. With me out of the way your path was clear, wasn't it? I wasn't in your way any longer, get me out of the way and you can become all that you ever wanted to be. ”

“You are incorrect, there was never any doubt regarding my progression. You fabricate any story you wish to make yourself feel better, Hunter. There was never competition between us; I was always going to be where I am now. You signed your own warrant to become what you are.”

“What I am now is your nightmare, Mycroft. The great Mycroft Holmes, you can't stop me, you're running out of time and you know it. Do you like my surprise? I created this just for you. My homage, my dedication to the great and powerful. Play my game, Mycroft. Let’s see who wins, shall we? See if you can survive on your own.”

“That is where you are wrong, I am not alone. We will put an end to your plans.”

“We? So our little kitty Kat is with you. Put her on the phone. Now, Mycroft!” 

Kat could tell he didn't want to pass4 the phone to her, she could see in his face that he didn't want her to have to deal with the venomous voice at the end of the line. In the quiet of the room she had heard every word of both sides of the conversation and she took the decision from Mycroft, plucking the phone from his hands. It was her decision and she was strong enough to take it. She held it to hear ear and waited, making him speak first. 

“Hello, love.”

 

“You don't get to call me that anymore.”

“What's wrong, bitch? Afraid to hear my voice? You forgot me so very easily and ran straight to him. You forgot about me instantly, Kat. Did I mean so little to you? Do you honestly think you are even in the same league as me, little girl? I know you.”

 

“You know nothing about me, Hunter. How could you? You think a few short years makes you an expert when it comes to me? I’ve got news for you, I’ve changed as much as you have in the last twenty years. I am nothing like the girl you knew. Not anymore. ”

 

Kat couldn’t keep the regret and pain from breaking through her voice. Even if there was only a slight hint of it, it was far more than she wanted. But even a person so locked down as she could be shaken at times and by no means was this an average case. This was hitting them all hard. Surrounded by strangers she may have held on to her cool calm but she was too raw and there was no one here but Mycroft to see her pain.

 

“Oh so you’re all big and strong now? Still trying to prove yourself, Kat? Still trying to run with the big boys?”

 

“Say what you will, Hunter. It doesn’t change a damn thing. Your actions so far have more than earned you the fate I will bring to you.”

 

His laugh was manic as it flowed over the line, his tone cruel and his voice so at odds with her memories. The softness he had been capable of. Kat closed her eyes against the pounding behind them, pinching the bridge of her nose with the fingers of her free hand. She wanted to sigh, but she knew he’d hear any sound she made and use it against her.

 

“You think you can come for me? Do you honestly think you'll win? You can't beat me Katharina, you couldn't then and you can't now.”

“Tell me where you are and we’ll test that theory of yours, shall we?”

“Nice try, love. Not going to make it so easy for you. Why would I ruin my fun? It's taken me a long time to plan this Kat, you might as well sit back and enjoy the show. There is nothing you can do to stop me, Katharina. Not a fucking thing, do you know what twenty years does to a plan? It allows it to flower into the most beautiful and deadly bloom.”

“Twenty years of your choosing. You could have called for help at any time and I'd have come for you. You knew I’d come for you and still you didn’t call. Don't you dare blame me! You did this Hunter, you separated yourself.”

“Me? No dearest, your precious leaders decided I was an acceptable loss and it was easier to walk away leaving me to a fate they made for me. One minute I was doing as they requested, acting on their orders the next I didn't even exist. They stripped my identity, denied my very existence and left me to my own devices in an unforgiving country with no way out. I merely had to fight, make the best of it and plan my revenge. I could have spent the time like you being a good servant to the state but instead I am master of my own empire and answer to no one but myself.”

“Tell yourself whatever you want to, if it makes you happy. But remember, if twenty years has changed you? Imagine what it has done to me as well. I have had the same amount of time to become what I am now and you have no idea what that is.”

Not waiting for Hunter to speak again, Kat handed the phone to Mycroft. The anger rolled from her in waves and she began where Mycroft had left off and walked the room. Not wanting to be far away but needing some outlet for her frustrations.

“What happened to you, Hunter?”

“I did what we were trained to do. I survived and I flourished.”

“Is that what you call this descent into madness? Flourishing?”

“You antagonise me, Mycroft. Is that really wise? I've got my finger on the button and you're forcing me to press it. You're running out of time and you know it. What will you choose, Mycroft? How many people will you let die? It’s all down to you.”

 

“What would it take for you to stop the attack? Would my trading myself to you be enough?”

 

“Silly, silly Mycroft. What would be the point in that? How can I hope to take everything you have and make you hurt if you hand yourself over to me? I’ve got much worse things in mind for you. Don’t worry Mycroft, you’ll see soon enough.”

 

“You will not get near them, Hunter. You will never be able to hurt them.”

 

“They nearly had her too, too close for you to cope with. Especially if you are willing to sacrifice yourself for them. So self sacrificing, it’s positively saccharine. You sicken me. Nearly Mycroft, you nearly knew what it was like to lose everything. I guess I’ll have to try again.”

 

Mycroft didn’t dare speak. He was losing his composure and walking straight into Hunters cage of words. He was giving too much information, he knew he was. But then it also seemed it was not information he didn’t already have. 

 

“So silent, have I struck a nerve? So is it to come to this, Mycroft? Are we to stand on broken roof tops, staring at a burning city? In the end, we all feel nothing for the wider world outside of our own immediate circle. Now tell me you don't feel the same and that you are better than me, Mycroft Holmes. Would you be Nero to see your family safe from me? Would you watch England burn to save your family? The family that I should have had? The opportunities that should have been mine and you have squandered them by being the perfect little soldier. You got everything, Mycroft and what did I get? I got abandoned by our beloved Queen. Bleeding and penniless on foreign soil, I was discarded so very easily. But you'll see, you've got so very much to lose, haven’t you Mycroft? I’ll see you soon.”

 

The line went dead in his ear, yet still he stood clutching the phone. Kat moved to stand in front of him, waiting until she had his attention. When he looked at her, the fierceness of her face should have prepared him for what was coming.

 

“Find him Mycroft, get me a plane. Arm me and let me finish this.”

 

“Kat!”

 

“No Mycroft, I need to do this”.

He saw the carefully constructed façade begin to crumble, showing just how delicate she was underneath. No matter what she said, she was very much affected by what had just occurred. He grasped her upper arms, making her look him in the eyes, he needed to see what she was hiding from him. He couldn’t risk sending her into a situation if her mental state was going to cause her to make mistakes and get herself killed. 

“You are emotionally compromised.”

She tried to shake off his grip, turning her face from him. When he didn’t release her, her temper came to the fore. Mycroft watched as the anger she’d been holding tight rein on lashed out. He hated to have to do this to her but he needed to know she was fit to do what she demanded he allow.

 

“No more than you, so don't try and pull that crap with me!”

 

“You love him Kat, can you honestly say you can kill him?”

 

“No, I loved the man he was. The man we just spoke to? That man bitter and twisted and so filled with hate it burns at him? No, that was not the man I knew. I owe it to who he was to do this for him. It needs to be me that finishes it.”

Mycroft knew there would be no stopping her. If he refused her the mission and tried to give it to someone else, she wouldn't listen and would go off alone if she had to. He could see the stubborn determination on her face and knew that nothing he would say would sway her decision. More so, he understood her perspective. While he knew they had not been the cause of Hunter’s situation, he had become what he was because of a decision made in a room probably just like the one they stood in now, 

“I won't send you alone.”

“Do whatever you need to. Create a team, whatever you want. When we locate him, and we will, send me in lead. Hell, I’ll take four of the men here now. Chances are we won’t find him until this part is all over and they’ll have nothing to do anyway. It doesn't matter who you send. Just one more thing, make sure they know the final shot is mine. Sort it, Mycroft.”

 

Kat turned, pulling away from him and left the room, Mycroft didn’t stop her. He heard her heavy booted steps echoing down the corridor before the door swung shut. She needed time alone right now, time to progress the resurgence of old emotions. She had mourned the loss all those years ago and he knew she wasn’t as heard hearted as people assumed she would have to be to do her job. He wouldn’t stop her, he would instead offer all the support she needed in order to give her the best chance of surviving her mission.


	22. Sex, Blood no rock and roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is me out of prepared chapters so hopefully I'll still be able to have the next one available in two weeks time. As always none of this could be done without the unfailing support of my confidant and biggest cheerleader, MyCitrusPocket. If any faults remain in the text it's all me, as she does ear best to coral the grammar and punctuation rebel that hides in my soul. 
> 
> If there are any delays in posting the next chapter, I apologise in advance as a new story is trying to hijack my time. I'm working on both at the moment so we'll have to see how that goes! 
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoy and comments are always greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Xx

 

Anthea woke up slowly, surrounded by warmth and strong pair of arms. She could feel Greg's breath ruffling her hair and the deep, even rhythm soothed her even further, almost lulling her back to sleep. She stayed still, not wanting to spoil the first contented moment she’d had for a while. As the little spoon to Greg's larger, more solid one she felt cocooned and loved. Even in his sleep, no, especially in his sleep he gravitated towards her. She knew it had been a while since he’d slept peacefully on his own, much preferring it when they could fall asleep wrapped around each other. Anthea could only agree, sleep came easily when they were together. It wasn't long though until she couldn't help but gently wiggle her rear against the rather instant erection that nestled against her cheeks as Greg pressed in close. It felt like forever since they'd last had a chance to spend any time together, so much had happened in such a short few days it hardly felt like things would ever go back to normal. Anthea relished in the safety she felt right where she was. Greg was her comfort blanket and she couldn't help but shuffle that bit closer so that they were pressed together from her shoulders all along her back, down to her feet that stretched to curl her toes against the top of his feet. Temptation got the better of her eventually and she couldn't resist the urge any more, the desire to deliberately tease him, to see how long he would remain asleep while she rubbed against him. Anthea wasn't surprised when it only took minutes for his breathing pattern to change and the arms around her tighten.

 

“Well, if this isn't the most perfect way to wake up, I'm up for finding out what's better.”

 

Anthea wriggled from the circle of his arms to turn and face him. Once the bed stopped rocking and she was comfortable again, she raised her gaze to his. At once she was looking into beautifully sleepy, heavily lidded mahogany coloured eyes that sent a jolt through her being and straight to her core. Without fail, just a look for him and she was ready to jump and wrap her legs around him, knowing without a doubt he would catch her every time. Years into their relationship and that hadn't changed, they were more comfortable now, settled into life as a pair rather than two people in lust. A deep understanding that could only come with years of work and yes, compromise too. Despite teething problems and absences they'd made it this far. Their jobs may keep them apart for periods of time but it was waking up like this that reminded them what was important.

 

“I'm not sure there is anything better, but we’ve got a lifetime to see if we can top this.”

 

The words weren't spoken but they both realised that with their current situation a lifetime might not actually be all that long. What more incentive could they have to want to solidify their emotions right now? Sadness was creeping in around the edges and Anthea wanted desperately to hold it at bay for just a little longer. Giving into the overwhelming need their lips met in the middle, the slow and easy kiss of familiar lips meeting in movements as second nature as breathing. When they broke apart Greg rested his forehead against hers and groaned.

 

“As unromantic as this sounds right now, please tell me we have time?”

 

“As equally unromantic, I think a quickie might be called for.”

 

Neither of them could conceal the snort of laughter.

 

“Seriously Anth, if I didn't want you so damn much that would be enough to put me off.”

 

“Liar, nothing puts you off. You're always ready.”

 

“True, but we don't usually have to schedule in sex or time it for that matter. It's so “busy middle aged person”, not really our style, despite us actually being busy middle aged people.”

 

“Not usually, but shut up and kiss me. We’re on a tight time scale here, Mister!”

 

Anthea had to squeal as she was rolled unceremoniously onto her back as Greg settled himself snugly against her, slowly rolling his hips into her in a rhythm guaranteed to have her panting and matching his movements in moments. Laughter bubbling from deep inside her, she really couldn't help teasing him. They had time, the way they had started, both more than ready, it was probably more than enough but it was really too much to resist. At the root of their relationship was no matter what the circumstances, they could still rely on the other to lighten the load and make them laugh.

 

It didn't take long for Anthea to have her legs wrapped tightly around Greg’s waist and drawing him closer. Her hands found their way to the back of his head as he buried his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. His teeth drawing up skin, almost to the point of pain before his tongue soothing away the sting.

 

“Clothes, too many clothes!”

 

Anthea's voice was thick with need, her whole body thrumming. There weren't exactly a lot of clothes between them, not by anyone's standards was two pairs of underwear a lot of clothes but they were in the way and causing a problem. Anthea unhooked her ankles and pressed her heels into the bed to lift her hips. Taking the hint Greg moved down her body, stopping to tease her pebbled nipples, nudging at the soft fullness of her breasts with his nose. Scraping his stubble against the delicate skin he peppered kisses down her stomach, raising to his knees and at the last moment propped on all fours above her. Leaning back on his haunches, he slid his fingers into her underwear. He aimed for words but the only thing that left his mouth was a growl.

 

Unceremoniously he dragged them over her hips and pulling her legs straight so that her feet pointed at the ceiling. Stripping her knickers from her body, he threw them over his shoulder. Seizing her thighs and holding her legs tight to his torso, Greg looked down at her and waggled his eyebrows at her before kissing each of her ankles. With her legs resting against his chest, Greg wiggled his boxers down with a little smile and raised eyebrow he kept eye contact with Anthea as he did it. When they reached his knees he encountered a problem. Greg leant forwards bending Anthea in half until she was almost wheezing for breath and batting at his shoulders.

 

“Can’t breathe! Give me warning you daft bugger.”

 

Greg grinned a little more and then performed some random shimmy crossed with a seizure type affair, kicking his legs and trying to push the pants down at the same time. When he finally managed to kick them across the room he leant back removing the pressure folding her in half and almost crowed with triumph. Anthea just covered her face with her hands and while shaking her head spoke through her fingers.

 

"Very smooth.”

 

“You love it.”

 

“God help me.”

 

Sliding his palms up her legs he let them fall until they once again lay over his spread thighs. He fell forwards, landing heavily with a hand either side of her head. Looking down at her he felt his cock twitch when she squeaked and then grinned at him. 

 

 

“Have you changed your mind? Going to just stay up there and look at me?”

 

Sliding himself against her core he groaned at how ready she was. Anthea grasped at his forearms, manicured nails biting crescents into his skin as she buried her head against his arm, kissing his bicep.

 

“I take it back, just please.”

 

Holding himself on one arm Greg reached between them to guide himself slowly between her folds, teasing her with short maddening thrusts. Gradually he seated himself completely with one final thrust. Anthea moaned lightly as she clenched tightly around him and he buried his head against her neck and nipped at the soft skin he found.

 

Despite the time frame they were looking at, fast and hard just wasn't right. Sinking down to press them together from chest to thigh, Greg slowly began to rock his hips. He alternated grinding pressure with longer drawn out thrusts that had Anthea clinging to him and matching his pace as they looked at each other. No uncomfortably long glances, just heat flowed between them in the dim light of the room, their breathing becoming more laboured with soft sighs and needy moans emanating from both of them.

 

Anthea clung to Greg, wrapping herself around him and pressing as close as she could. She met him eagerly, seeking to pull him deeper, the pressure in her pelvis growing steadily, promising much that still lay just out of reach.

 

“Greg, please.”

 

He could feel her getting close to falling over the edge, the spasms that gripped him were more frequent even as he kept the rhythm deliberately slow. Knowing that it was most definitely more than enough to have her trembling, her breath catching in her throat as she’d start to break apart, safely cradled in his arms. The moment her head tilted back of its own accord and she circled her hips against him, he knew she was close. He increased the speed of his thrusts but kept pressing deep.

 

Right as Anthea felt the slow burn turn into a distinctly building tingle that travelled through her legs and up her spine, Greg stopped. Still sheathed inside her, pressing in just the right place but not moving, he held her there but wouldn't let her find her release. She tried to move against him but he let his weight drop onto her, effectively pinning her to the bed. He moved one arm to cradle the back of her head.

 

“Greg, no, no, please, so close. Move Greg. God please move.”

 

She turned her head as much as possible, trying to find any of his skin with her mouth. His shoulder met her lips and she bit him. Not hard, just enough to make him flinch, and even that caused a ripple of pleasure to flow through her. Anthea slid her hands from his forearms to settle against his waist, deceptively strong arms pushing and pulling at him, he aided her then and in time with her demands began to move again inside of her. She picked the rhythm she needed and he was hers to command.

 

“As you wish.”

 

At his words her world stuttered, the heavy heat that had been building inside her finally crested. Her orgasm deep, languid and absolutely perfect. Greg continued his pace throughout her body's convulsions, and it was her whole body. The waves seemed to radiate from her spine outwards and she shivered through each and every pulse. Greg kept her there with his well timed twitches of his hips while he chased his own climax. With a groan he collapsed on top of her, no longer able to focus on holding himself up. His breath coming in pants against her ear, every so often his whole body clenched, pushing him deeper than she thought possible. Anthea ran her hands up and down his spine, eventually settling so she could grasp his bum cheeks, revelling in the contractions of the muscles as he spent himself deep inside her. Greg kissed her, his lips swollen against her own. With their bodies still joined the kiss seemed more than it was and Anthea joined him in the slow caress of tongues.

 

For quite a while the only sounds were rasping breaths and the occasional whimper as oversensitive flesh was rubbed. Until with a groan Greg withdrew and flopped over onto his back by her side. Searching next to him he found her hand and brought it to his lips and meshed their fingers, holding it against his chest.

 

 

“The Princess Bride? Really Greg?”

 

“You know you love it.”

 

Anthea just dissolved into husky laughter and snuggled closer in to his side. Her breath tickling across his chest as they got their breaths back.

 

“Times up, one of us has to make a move.”

 

“Takes you longer, you should take the shower first.”

 

“My hero. So gallant.”

 

“Anything for my lady.”

 

“You sure it's not just because you want to stay in bed longer?”

 

“You wound me!”

 

“A likely story. But fine.”

 

Anthea deliberately slid her body over his as she moved to get up. Brushing her breasts against his chest and pausing to peck at his lips whispering against them.

 

“You dare be snoring when I get back.”

 

 

Greg sprawled across the bed while Anthea disappeared into the bathroom to get ready for the day. Well he assumed day, he wasn't actually sure what time it was. He wasn't sure how long they had managed to sleep before a rather superb wake up if he did say so. He squinted at his watch in the near darkness now the bathroom door was almost closed, he then realised that didn't really help seeing as it could be morning or evening. Greg hadn't realised just how much he liked the outdoors and definitely took windows and daylight for granted, what he'd do for a window right now. The need to know was riding him hard and there was only one way to find out without actually having to move. Raising his voice he yelled in the general direction of the bathroom.

 

“Anth, Anthea! Anthea?”

 

“What!?”

 

“What time is it?”

 

“Seven ish.”

 

“Morning or night?”

 

Her answer was laughter. Lots of it and it just made Greg huff to himself, it wasn't his fault he had no idea. He wasn't used to living underground like a mole.

 

“Not helping, Anth.”

 

“Morning, it's morning.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No worries.”

 

 

Slightly mollified now he knew, Greg fought going back to sleep, instead he listened to Anthea as she sang in the shower. He wasn't able to hear the words, now she wasn't shouting back at him, her rich voice was muffled by the sound of pouring water as it filtered through the crack in the door. He was almost tempted to move his position on the bed in hopes of actually being able to see into the bathroom. Just as he was about to move the sound of the shower cut off effectively making that decision for him. Greg heard the click of the bathroom door closing, then the familiar hum of a hair dryer. Slinging his arm over his eyes he allowed himself to drift slightly while he waited for his turn in the bathroom. With the amount of time it took Anthea to get ready Greg was almost sorry he hadn't taken the opportunity to nap, but the moment she finally emerged from the bathroom made it all worth the wait. Greg shifted his forearm from his eyes to rest it on his forehead, silhouetted with the light behind her it took him a moment to see the full glorious picture. Her hair swing with her movements, teasing him with peeking views of her breasts tantalisingly covered by black lace. If he wasn't mistaken given the half light it was one of his favourite lingerie sets. When she switched on the light Greg squeezed his eyes shut and protested at the brightness with a string of irritated noises.

 

“Don't think you'll get sympathy from me, it's time to get up and the bathroom’s free, so up. Also don't think I don't know you were perving then so it serves you right.”

 

“What happened to the sweet and gentle woman I had wrapped around me half an hour ago? What have you done with her? Who is this cruel harridan that tortures me so?”

 

In the full throws of his dramatics on the bed, Greg took a chance and peeked to see if he had her attention and completely lost his train of thought. With one foot raised on a chair she rolled a stocking up her leg, but it wasn't that that dried his mouth. Yes, definitely one of his favourite lingerie sets. He knew from her years of her “training” that the reason for the thong underwear was so that she didn't have visible lines through her skirt. He couldn't say he cared the reason, only that they made him want to get his hands on her skin again. True enough she caught him looking, turning her head to look through her hair he could see Anthea smile even as she rolled her eyes as he whistled at her.

 

“Why thank you DI Lestrade. But, if you don't get your arse in that shower in the next minute we’re going to be late.”

 

“Yes mistress.”

 

Greg heaved himself out of bed trying to suppress the groan that came with getting older. Knowing she was watching he took time to stretch with his back to her. She loved his arse and he was more than happy to let her look. Her laughter followed him into bathroom.

 

When he came out rubbing furiously at his hair with a towel, Anthea was fully dressed and tapping away on her blackberry.

 

“How on earth does that work down here? I haven't had a signal since we got here.”

 

“Shit, sorry. I'll get you one of ours so you can use it. It completely slipped my mind.”

 

Greg settled his hands on her shoulders and met her eyes in the vanity mirror before kissing the top of her head careful not to disturb the artful twist of her hair.

 

“Don't worry about me love, you've had a bit on your plate. So what's the plan of action?”

 

“There’s been some developments with finding the virus and confirmation that the man behind it all is someone Mycroft used to know very well. But before we go and jump into that our first priority is getting to John and Sherlock. John has been with him for hours and won't leave his side for obvious reasons. But we need to get him to eat and take a shower. We can't let him make himself sick. I'll stay with Sherlock, you need to work your mojo to get John sorted. I don't care how, just make sure he eats something and get some liquids in him. I don't want to have to tell the doctors to put him on a drip because he won't listen. Actually don't even joke about that to him. He’d probably think it was the perfect answer.”

 

“Why do I feel like I have to throw my hands in the air and shout “go team” all of a sudden?

 

Anthea reached a hand backwards to pat his cheek gently meeting his eyes in the mirror.

 

“Because you are losing your mind, but don't worry, I'm keeping you around.”

 

“Well that’s reassuring, thank you I guess. Give me two minutes and I'll be good to go.”

 

 

\------

 

When Greg and Anthea arrived at quarantine, both Sherlock and John were an arresting sight. Sherlock looked pale and wan surrounded by tubes and wires, John faced away from the door but just the way he held his shoulders and slumped in the chair gave Greg a hint as to how big a toll this was having on him. John heard the door open and slowly turned his head to see who came to disturb them, he even tried to greet them in return but it just served to make him look more exhausted and older. Greg knew at that point that they had arrived just at the right time. John needed them to tell him to look after himself, because for Sherlock he would walk himself into the grave before leaving him alone. The dedication had been there since the first time Greg had met John, and then shortly after he’d had to look the other way after the fierce soldier doctor killed to protect Sherlock. As soon as John had appeared in Sherlock’s life they had all seen the changes in him, right from the very start. Mycroft and Anthea had been there that night, arriving shortly after Greg called Anthea to tell her what had happened. He'd seen them pull up in one of the not so discreet big black cars, but they had waited outside the crime scene tape still managing to work themselves, until Greg could get away and they could discuss the change in circumstance. Mycroft had done his usual and kidnapped the man, he and Anthea had waited in the back of the car out of sight while Mycroft did his intimidation, inquisition, devil on the shoulder routine. Greg knew what that was like, having had the same thing done to him right after his first meeting with Sherlock. He couldn’t do the same routine when he and Anthea had first started to date but Greg had found himself at the end of a stern talking to, that came with a warning that should he displease Anthea in any way it would not end well for him. As they had hidden and listened to the conversation between Mycroft and John, Greg and Anthea couldn't help but grin at each other as they tried to get a better look. At the end of the meeting they were all pleased, the man had shown his character and mettle, it hadn't taken long for them to decide John Watson was likely going to be a good thing for Sherlock, and they hadn't been wrong.

 

“John mate, you look like shit. Come on. Anth is going to stay with Sherlock and you're coming with me. You need a shower and something to eat.”

 

Greg could tell by the look on the part of his face he could see, that John was going to argue. Greg hadn't expected anything else, but he wasn't backing down. Anthea and he were tasked with keeping him healthy too.

 

“Don't argue with me, an hour tops. He’s not going to be on his own and if there's any change Anthea will call. You're no use to him if you get sick too, John. You know you're going to need all your strength when he’s on the mend and demanding the world from his sick bed.”

 

John became a bit distant right there, disappearing into his head for a moment. Only coming out of it when Greg’s hand appeared in front of him stretched out. John took it and let Greg haul him to his feet, he’d seized up having sat in the same place for hour upon hour so the help was appreciated. With a clap on his shoulder he allowed Greg to herd him to the door.

 

“Anthea, any change. Anything at all and you’ll call?”

 

“Of course, John. I'll look after him until you're back. Now, the quicker you go the quicker you’ll be back.”

 

“Thanks Anthea. Yeah, just thanks.”

 

“No worries, John.”

 

Anthea knew he’d stand there as long as possible so she nodded to Greg who immediately understood the request and set about getting John moving.

 

 

Anthea stood by the side of Sherlock’s bed as she watched Greg lead John from the room with a guiding hand on his shoulder. As soon as the door slid shut she jumped at the feel of cold clammy hands on her arm.

 

“Sherlock? Are you awake?”

 

His eyes fluttered as he opened them, and he offered a weak glare in her direction but he didn’t seem as sleep addled as she would expect. Whether he’d been asleep when she arrived would likely be a contentious issue. Though if he had been awake his reasons for hiding it from John both escaped her and made her suspicious. He may be sick but he was still a Holmes brother and they were never predictable. He tried to speak and it took him more than one attempt to get find his voice, even then it was slurred but she could hear his irritation.

 

“Obvvvsly”

 

Well no change in his personality then. Anthea never thought she’d be so glad to hear the characteristic derisive sneer in his voice, even if it was weak.

 

“Stay awake, Sherlock. I’ll get John.”

 

Despite his frail appearance the hand that grasped her arm was sure and insistent. He held onto her tightly as he tried to lever himself from the bed to stop her leaving. He was adamant as he tried to speak, there were a few false starts as he attempted and Anthea could see the frustration growing in him.

 

 

“No!.. Need to… Speak to… YOU.”

 

“Sherlock, stop it! Calm down.”

 

His actions though, had served their purpose and Anthea stopped in her tracks. She was torn between doing as Sherlock asked and as shed promised going to get John. He’d sat by his bed the whole time he’d been asleep, waiting for just this moment and now Sherlock didn’t want him here? She honestly didn’t understand at all.

 

The force with which he had spoken the words, strained his lungs and he started to cough. It started small but quickly it progressed to a deep and painful barking that shook his whole body. Anthea had never heard a cough like it, had never heard any sound quite so chilling and she’d been present at more than one physical interrogation. She held his hand as tightly as he did hers. Not willing to let go as the pain and jerks had him rolling to his side and curling in on himself even as the coughing continued.

 

Anthea didn’t know what to do. Medically wise there was nothing she could do to help him, she wasn’t a doctor. The only option open to her was to call for help, she repeatedly slammed her hand against the call button and she did the one thing that had been rigorously trained out of her. She panicked. Petrified as Sherlock continued to cough, his breath forced from him by the spasms in his chest, he couldn’t breathe in. The noises he made seem to come from his very soul. He coughed until he had no air left and then still the coughing continued, the motions still there but with no air left there was no sound, horrifically silent as he writhed. Just the sight of Sherlock struggling as he held onto her, scared her more deeply than she could ever remember feeling. His eyes were squeezed tight and his face was bright red as the violent jerks wracked his body, Sherlock was suffocating because the coughing wouldn’t stop long enough for him to get even one breath. There was no respite, his own body forgetting the most basic of things it had to do and conspiring to kill him.

 

 

Two doctors hurried into the room, Anthea moved out of the way but she didn’t let go of Sherlock’s hand. He opened his eyes searching for her and all she could see was fear. But it was not the same fear she had seen before on those occasions he had courted death over the years. This time he was fully aware what was happening and knew he was powerless to stop it. One doctor quickly inserted a needle into the intravenous cannula taped to his arm, administering some drug or other that they clearly thought would help. Anthea wanted to question what they were giving to him but it would wait until they had stabilised Sherlock. Believing that he would be ok was the only option, there was no room for doubt. She wouldn't even think about what might happen, as though merely thinking it would turn it into reality. They reattached his oxygen and held him up as at last he was able to pull in a breath between the body shaking expulsions the coughing caused. It seemed to take an age before the coughing began to subside and Anthea felt herself starting to relax, confident now that the doctors were with them, he was at least being cared for. The doctors needed full access to Sherlock and rationally she knew she was in the way, reluctantly she lay Sherlock’s hand back on the bed and stepped back, not too far but enough to be outside the doctors way. As entranced as she was with the actions in front of her, when she glanced at the bed she wavered on her feet. Marring the stark white bed linen, were unmistakeable spots of red. She knew she’d paled further and her unsteady movement had been noticed when one of the doctors tending Sherlock turned to check on her. She shook her head quickly, indicating that he should continue to focus on Sherlock. They didn't need to be concerned about her, she really wasn’t the issue here. All their attention needed to be on him because the time had come. Sherlock was coughing up blood. Even if she hadn’t been privy to the course of the illness and known that there was a good chance this would happen, she would have been able to guess that it was most definitely not a good sign. She caught the eye of one of the doctors and motioned to the patch. Faces covered by masks couldn’t be read as easily, but the resigned look in the doctors eyes said everything Anthea hadn’t wanted to hear.

 

“We’ll be taking another blood sample. Please Mr Holmes, try and stay calm, the more relaxed you are the less you will cough. You’ll do yourself no favours if you cause another of those fits. The relaxant we gave you should help with the urge to cough but you have to work with us. We are going to lower the temperature of the room, the hotter you are the more you’ll cough also. We’ll elevate you further to try and help but, you have to tell us what’s happening if you can. If it gets too much we will sedate you again to try and take some of the strain.”

 

Sherlock still had his eyes closed as he laboured to control his breathing, fighting for each lungful of air, but the combination of drugs the doctor had given him made his head sway. Though the medication appeared to work as his coughing had almost subsided. Anthea watched as one doctor put an arm around Sherlock and levered him forward, holding his meagre weight easily. The other removed the bloodstained pillow and whisked it out of sight before pulling another from a cupboard across the room, returning quickly to place it behind Sherlock. He then carefully helped settle Sherlock back to a reclined position. Even though they had essentially done all the work for him, cold sweat still beaded on Sherlock’s brow. With a nod to Anthea they silently withdrew, leaving them alone.

 

She focused all her attention back to the wheezing figure in the bed. As she approached Sherlock opened his eyes and Anthea gasped. The white of his left eye was gone. Instead looking back at her was a striking blue eye surrounded by bright crimson.

 

“Sherlock just stay there a moment, I'll be right back.”

 

Trying not to run but knowing Sherlock would see her fear anyway, she almost ran after the doctors.

 

“Doctor! Please, if you have a moment?”

 

One doctor waved the other ahead to the decontamination and turned back to wait as Anthea closed the distance between them.

 

“Doctor, his eye.”

 

“Is fine.”

 

“But the blood.”

 

“Burst blood vessels. Pressure builds up with the coughing, one of the easiest outlets is the delicate vessels in the eye. In time it will be re absorbed by the body and return to normal. It isn't a worry, unlike the expectoration of blood. We're going to run the tests again and meet to discuss our next course of action. We will, of course, explain everything and answer any questions you have.”

 

“Thank you doctor. I'm sorry I don't even know your name.”

 

“Miller, Dr. Miller. Physician in charge of the patients care. Call again if Mr. Holmes needs us. Please do continue your visit but don't keep him awake too long. He really does require his rest. He is in a delicate position, but we are doing our best.”

 

“I know. Thank you.”

 

With a nod, they parted. Anthea hurried back in with Sherlock. His startling eyes locked on to her at her as soon as she returned, he almost looked through her as she pulled John’s chair back into its position by the bed. Before she managed to sit he spoke again, this time it was quieter but she heard the demand in his voice.

 

“Explain!”

 

“You've burst blood vessels in your eye, I just wanted to check with the doctors, it's fine.”

 

Sherlock frowned and tried to scoff but it turned in to a sharply drawn in breath.

 

“Sherlock, don't do that, it’ll make you cough again!”

 

“Helps fight.... the desire to cough. Seems to stop it for... a time.”

 

Anthea looked dubious, it seemed a little counterintuitive to her but if it made him feel more in control, who was she to argue?

 

“John will be back soon, Sherlock. What did you want to talk to me about?”

 

Sherlock was flagging, the fit having sapped what little strength he possessed, but she saw him fighting the lethargy even as he sagged against the cushions. His will alone seemed to be keeping his eyes open. However, as usual he was determined to have this conversation on his terms.

 

“All I have... Goes to John... Everything....”

 

“Aren't you going to need it yourself?”

 

“Take care of John.”

 

The unspoken “when I die” lay heavy in the air between them. Sherlock couldn't and she wouldn't say those words. As if speaking them aloud would tempt fate just that little bit too much.

 

“Get better and look after him yourself!”

 

“Anthea...

 

“No Sherlock, this is you giving up and I'm not having it. Do you hear me? We're not giving up on you, so you sure as shit don't get to!”

 

Anthea couldn't keep the anger and exasperation put of her voice. They could only do so much for him but if he gave up fighting there would be nothing they could do to keep him here with them.

 

“Trying not to... Go anywhere... Just in case.”

 

Anthea deflated at his words, hunching forwards she had to blink rapidly to fight back the prickling in her eyes. Despite its breathless quality, Sherlock’s voice lacked the usual certainty that was present when he spoke. There was in its place an unfamiliar doubt, he was scared. For probably the first time in his adult life, Sherlock Holmes doubted himself and his abilities. With his displaying such uncharacteristic vulnerability, Anthea had to sit up and listen. His hand moved feebly on the sheets, turning over and asking with his expression rather than words. Looking back down she took his hand in hers, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. They'd sat like this before, in clinical hospital rooms, just the two of them waiting for Mycroft to sweep in and sort everything. Usually though it was when Sherlock was already on the mend after an overdose and after each time neither of them spoke of it.

 

“Protect him.”

 

“Always.”

 

“ ’specially... From self.”

 

Her own breathing was starting to stutter now. He was finally becoming the man she had always known he could be and it might all be snatched away. It hurt, it hurt so damn much it was enough to have tears pooling and her wanting to rock back and forth.

 

“Oh God, Sherlock.”

 

Having said what he needed to, he seemed to relax and his eyes were struggling to stay open. Anthea watched him raptly noting every inhale and exhale carefully. When she thought he'd called back asleep, she spoke again.

 

“Love you, Sherlock.”

 

She shouldn't have been surprised when she got a sleepy and quiet response, the word gentle and soft on his lips. Making her hold on just that little bit tighter and return the light squeeze of his fingers.

 

“Sentiment.”


	23. Putting Humpty back together again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Direct continuation from 22.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever to everyone who reads and comments, to someone who writes thy really do make the biggest difference and keep you writing. I hope you enjoy this next instalment.

What Greg had been expecting, he couldn’t quite work out. He was though damn sure he hadn’t been ready for the sight that greeted them in quarantine. Seeing Sherlock in a hospital bed once more had been a kick to the stomach, it had taken all he had to keep on track and stick to the plan. Greg knew he had to focus on the issue at hand and deal with everything else later. Maybe if they got everything sorted there might even be a chance at a future for all of them. That was the thing Greg was going to have to cling on to in order to keep his feet moving and his emotions in check, even if he just wanted to find a quiet corner somewhere to wallow in, falling back on years of training and quashed it all to stand strong and guide John forwards.

From what Anthea had told him and from what he knew about John, Greg had expected him to be in a state, but what he hadn’t been prepared for was just how much of his exhaustion and fear showed in his face, aging him beyond his years. He ushered John as quickly as he could but it wasn’t difficult to see the man was stiff and there was a noticeable hitch in his walk. Greg knew it would go away again once the shock was over and Sherlock was better, but it was still painful to see such an obvious manifestation of the trauma John was going through. Greg was torn, he felt a measure of guilt that John had been left dealing with everything there on his own, but everyone had been running around trying to cope with the situation. However much he might not like it, it was the best they could have done under the circumstances. Leaving his hand resting on John to keep him grounded and armed with Anthea’s directions to first find a bathroom and then a canteen of sorts to get some much needed energy into John. Greg walked slowly with John, one measured step after another, they’d get there even if it was slowly. 

John knew he was on autopilot, everything but Sherlock had seemed surreal since the moment he’d woken up in quarantine and heard him struggling to breathe. Their lives weren’t exactly bog standard normal but this was a little extreme even for them. He’d lost track of time completely all he knew was how many hours Sherlock had left to fight until the virus was out of his system. What that equalled in the real world he could only guess at and found he didn’t care. Time was something he could deal with later, much later. Inside, John dealt with anger and pain and fear, he’s not even sure what he feels any more. There was a heart gripping fear that had been the overpowering emotion. Now though? No longer by Sherlock’s side he felt numb almost, the pain was still there but the outside world wasn’t making it through. He wasn’t sure how long Greg had been calling his name but by the worry in his voice it could have been a while.

 

“John, you’re no good to him if you’re on your arse as well.”

 

“I’m alright, I’ve got time till that happens. I’m a doctor, remember?”

 

“Yeah and I might not be as observant as Sherlock but I can spot bullshit a mile off. It’s not the doctor that’s in charge right now, is it? You’re not thinking with your training and I’m not saying that to hurt you. Tell anyone I did this touchy feely business and I’ll take actions I warn you, but we’ve all know since the beginning what Sherlock means to you. You protect him, keep him from getting hurt and put him back together when he does something stupid. You might as well be in that bed with him because you feel every damn pain he has and your own as well. For God’s sake, John. Let us help you as much as we can. Let us look after you while you look after him.”

 

John looked at Greg and felt like he was seeing the whole of the man. John had been so lost in his own pain he had failed to recognise the emotions of the others. It was hard for him to remember that each of them had known Sherlock longer than he, had been through the worst times of Sherlock’s life up until this point with him. They loved him as much as he did and they were now trying to hold it all together for the both of them. It was something they would never be able to repay. John had to believe that Sherlock would get better, he couldn’t allow himself to think otherwise. When all of this was done and dusted they would all be closer for it, surviving and flourishing despite outside forces.

“You know I’m filing that away for the day I need a bargaining chip.”

“Shut it and move, sorry to tell you mate but you’re starting to smell.”

“Bastard.”

 

\-------------- 

 

 

Mycroft had slumped in his chair, he was exhausted, he could barely remember the last time he’d managed to get some sleep and was surviving on minute long naps snatched in rare moments of quiet. They were just moments, not long enough to wipe away the bone deep fatigue that refused to leave him. He knew if he went to the bunker doctors, not the ones treating Sherlock but the ones on permanent staff with the agency, that there were things they could give him that would keep him at least functioning for the time being. But he didn’t want to risk them dulling his mind or have him making rash decisions that could only make the situation worse. He had too much resting on his shoulders, too many people’s fate relied upon him being clear headed and able to make the right choice. Having succumbed to another micro nap, Mycroft was startled awake when his phone rang for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last twenty four hours.

 

“Boss, we’re on the move. Didn’t have time to come and find you, we had to get going. I knew you’d understand.”

 

Max’s voice came over loud and clear, however the ambient noise of the phone call provided a more complete picture. He could hear the familiar sounds of a team gearing up on the move. Instructions flowing back and forth along with a shout giving an ETA to location, it was all undercut by the heavy throb of an engine thrumming steadily in the background.

“We’ve got intel, but it’s time sensitive. We had to make the decision to move on it straight away in case we missed the window of opportunity. ETA 2 minutes to a house in Chelsea, looks like you got the target right boss.”

Mycroft had known when he’d involved Max that he was impetuous, reckless to a point of self destruction but loyal to a fault.

“Max, do tell me you took the time to collect adequate equipment? Kendo is as vociferous in his conviction regarding the information? ”

“Did you just ask if Kendo’s as convinced as me that the plan is good? Yeah boss, I’ve brought my nanny, no worries we’ve got this. We’re going in as normal, nothing to slow us down. We still have the army in place in case this all goes tits up, just in case?”

 

“Make sure it does not, but yes they have mobilised discreetly, I will contact the powers that be and prepare them for any eventuality, should you require them they will be available. If you left with no additional resources at least assure me you at have communications in place and support in operations?”

“Ah boss you know there’s a reason I’m not allowed out on my own. Kendo sorted all of that. We’ve got ops up, running and in support. Don’t worry we’re going in quick and hard. Eliminate threat, contain virus. Confirm we have it all, no survivors as they don’t have any information we need anyway. Right?”

“Proceed as you see fit. Whom have you coerced into support in ops?”

“The best boss, other than you that is.” 

“Indeed?”

“Ms Parker-DeWitt was present as we got the info and volunteered, so yeah pretty sure we’re good.”

“Just so, Max. Keep the lines open and maintain contact with Ops. I shall join Ms Parker-DeWitt as soon as possible. All reports will automatically be brought to me as procedure anyway. No unnecessary risks, do not let them release the virus, Max.” 

“Got it, we’re almost there, got to go boss. Better hope we see you soon.”

This was a major tipping point and Mycroft felt the familiar thrill that came with precarious situations like this, it chased away the exhaustion better than anything else as adrenaline started to course through his body. His pulse beginning the excited rhythm that would stay with him until the issue came to an end, no matter the result.

\-------------- 

With the rim of a white porcelain sink digging into his lower spine Greg leant back, crossing his legs at his ankles and folding his arms across his chest he waited patiently. The steam from John’s shower made the air thick and fogged the mirrors, the splashing of the water in the shower the only noise in the room. Both of them were silent and while it could have been uncomfortable, instead it lay easily between them. There would be more time to talk but there was no point bombarding him right now, so long as it wasn’t harmful to John, Greg saw no reason he couldn’t wait a little more.

The air was almost opaque with the steam, time only having clouded it further. Greg decided John must have finished in the shower, no one could take this long and distracted as he was, Greg would say he’d probably just been standing there for the last ten minutes.

“John, you’re going to look like a prune if you stay in there any longer.”

The voice that came from the other side of the room was slow but held a hint of John’s personality. That gave Greg all the information he needed with how to proceed. John was giving him clues and setting the tone for how he wanted the time away from Sherlock to go.

“There a reason you’re thinking about me naked, Detective Inspector?”

“Yes John, I lust after your body, Anthea knows it’s only time until I give in to my urges and fall at your feet and beg you to take me.”

 

“I’ll have a word with Anthea then, maybe we can work out a time share kind of thing.”

“Shut it you perve and get your arse moving, I’ve got to get you fed before we go back or Anthea will have my balls.”

“Hate to tell you mate, but I’m pretty sure she’s already got them.”

“Har har, funny guy. Anyway if she does that’s between me and her.”

Those few moments of banter they shared were important for both of them. Not forgetting what was happening but working with the situation and trying to find their feet. Comforting each other without walking on egg shells, a typical man thing to do Greg suspected, but there would be time for heart to hearts again soon enough. They had to meter it out with snatches of their usual interactions so they didn’t get bogged down to a point they couldn’t come back from it. The toll on them all was great, since they had tried to take Molly, stress had become a constant companion, more so than they usually had to deal with. Before Greg himself could get lost in destructive thoughts John emerged, wrapped in a towel and looking confused.

“I don’t have any clean clothes.”

Greg pulled a holdall off the sinks and threw it at John, catching him slightly off guard but he managed to catch it and steady it before it hit the ground.

 

“Course you do, Anthea’s in charge remember. My woman thinks of everything you know.”

“I’ll remember to thank her, might even mention you calling her “Your Woman” see how that goes.”

“Evil John, here’s me being all nice and you go threaten me with the wrath of the scariest women either of us know.”

John nodded his head and while his smile wasn’t his normal one it was enough to have Greg relaxing slightly. As John went to get dressed Greg turned around to face a mirror. John wasn’t the only one who was looking older, he wouldn’t mind but at least he’d been able to get a night’s sleep and should have been revived, not for the first time Greg felt every single one of his years and then maybe a couple more. With his hands braced on the sink he looked at his reflection until he saw John walk up next to him and clap a hand on his shoulder. When Greg turned his eyes to look at him, John tilted his head to the door. 

“Yeah mate, come on let’s go eat, we could both do with something. Should be serving breakfast I think. I’ve got directions from Anth, but seriously we might have to call for help if I can’t find it.”

“Two men stopping and asking for directions, can we do that?”

“Depends how lost we get and I’m not above rejecting stereotypes. I’m an evolved man I’ll have you know. Let’s go my stomach is starting to growl.”

As soon as they left the bathroom and the real world hit them straight in the face, backed up by stark walls and concrete floors, they couldn’t fool themselves that there was anything normal about what was happening and the melancholy settled over them again. From the tentative joking they now walked once more in silence. Greg going through the twists and turns Anthea had told him and John following one step behind.

\------------------

It was a tense wait, but one not as long as Mycroft had expected. He hadn’t even managed to make it down to Kat in Ops after his phone call to the appropriate General to warn of the impending mission and the possibility that his men would be required quicker than they had previously planned. Fortunately, Mycroft had worked with this particular man previously and knew him to be a conscientious man, this was born out when Mycroft was assured without hesitation that forces were in place and could be mobilised immediately to shut down the agreed area should they fail today.

“Maximilian! Status?”

“Hell Boss, you sound like my Mum. We’re good. Four canisters located and secure. All X-rays accounted for and neutralised. Confirmed by the last X-ray. What’s our next move Boss? We didn’t have time to check on that bit.”

Mycroft allowed himself to relax slightly. He had been to feel like this would never end. It only got more and more complicated with each and every revelation. He was angry that he was not able to feel the level of relief that should come with Max’s news, should have been the end and now it just proved to be another way station on their journey. Now all he could do was worry about the next seemingly insurmountable hurdle, locating Hunter and supporting Kat in her quest for closure.

“Well done Max, truly well done. The devices are safe to move?”

“Henderson has been all over the things, you know what he’s like Boss, he thinks it’s Christmas. He’s happy and if he’s satisfied that there’s no surprises and they’re good to go, it’s enough for me.”

“His conviction is also adequate to persuade me to continue. Have them prepared for transport once they are contained and stable bring them to the facility. I will arrange for a team to meet you at the surface and you will transfer responsibility to them. It will be adequately stored until decisions are made regarding their future.”

“They need to be destroyed, Boss.”

Mycroft could think of no better outcome. This virus was an abomination and even if he distanced himself from the situation, put aside his very strong personal involvement and thought purely with the darkest most calculating part of his mind, he could think of no situation in which it could be beneficial.

“A sentiment I share most definitely. That point will be stressed most vehemently.”

“Big words Boss, you know me and big words don’t get along all that well.”

“No Max, that is merely what you would like others to believe. If you are underestimated you are immediately at an advantage.”

“Damn Boss, can’t have any secrets can I?”

“It would do neither of us any favours if I was unaware of your strengths and weaknesses. I want the package moved in a protective convoy, Kendo and yourself to ride with the package in the middle vehicle. I am assuming you have sufficient vehicles to run a convoy?”

“Yeah we’ve got three, should be plenty if you can clear a route for us. We’re armed enough to withstand most things. If Kendo and me run in the middle with the canisters then we can have three men in the front vehicle and three in back. We brought a hazmat container so we can put them in there until we get it back and lock it up.”

“I assume I am your first call? I shall arrange for a containment and clean up team to arrive at the location shortly, however in order to cause no further delay a small crew will be dispatched to hold the perimeter and secure the scene so that you may leave. We each have work to accomplish Max, let us conclude our conversations and return to our tasks.”

“See you soon Boss, then I hear we might have another job coming up. That might be even more fun than this one. “

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?”

Max almost whooped down the line and for the first time since the beginning of the conversation Mycroft could hear Kendo in the background calling for Max to rein it in.

“But that’s not a no, definitely not a no.”

“Work Max, we shall discuss future plans at a later time.”

\---------

Greg could see that John was beyond tired but he was pushing through it like Greg had seen him do before, still any moment of inactivity made the need for sleep creep closer. John had his elbow on the table and his head propped on his hand, his blinks getting longer. Greg knew better than to suggest John get some sleep, that he’d been away from Sherlock for this long was surprising but he wouldn’t stay away longer than was absolutely necessary. Greg was sure John had only stayed this long because he knew Sherlock wasn’t on his own and that someone he trusted was with him.

“We’re all here for you John, you know that right? I’m sorry Anthea and me haven’t been to see you both sooner.”

John looked up, the fork in his hand stilling in his pushing of food around the plate without actually eating very much at all.

“Greg, don’t be daft. We have to get everything sorted and with me and Sherlock out of it? I know we’re putting more strain on the rest of you.”

“We’re all doing exactly what we have to right now. The only thing you need to be doing right now is taking care of Sherlock and yourself. We’ve got the rest so don’t you dare worry about it. Alright? You aren’t in this alone. We’re here for you, don’t bottle it all up, it’ll only be destructive. You know you’re going to have to be in top condition when his lordship is on the mend and being as demanding as ever. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Greg saw as John started to think and he could see as his face contorting as the emotions ran across it quickly. It was confused and real, fear, hope and a hint of a crinkling at his eyes as he visualised the image Greg had given him. Sherlock was a nightmare when he was sick, worse than a child really. John pleaded with God to give Sherlock back, prayed harder than he had when faced with the imminence of his own death. He was more scared now than he had even been when his life’s blood flowed from his body to mingle with sand as he had stared at a perfect blue sky through the gap in blurred faces and helmets as they scrambled around him. Before he could get lost in his thoughts Greg spoke again.

 

“How’s he doing John? I haven’t had a chance to speak to anyone and well, you’ll tell me in words I’m going to understand and tell it like it is.”

“He’s really sick, Greg. I can’t get passed that. All I know is he’s fighting it, he hasn’t progressed like the men who didn’t have help. Whether that’s just him or the cocktail of meds they are giving him? I don’t even care, so long as he keeps doing it. He’s not got to fight so hard for much longer, as soon as the virus is out of his system I’ll be much happier, I know what we need to do to aid his recovery from there. It’s the great unknown at the minute. You’ve done this before though, haven’t you?”

“What?”

 

“Seen Sherlock like this I mean.”

 

“Not quite, but yeah I’ve seen him in some states. Nothing like this.”

 

“He’s going to be alright though.”

 

Greg wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. The way things were going it could easily be both.

 

“We both know he’s too stubborn to give up. There are still questions, do you really think he’s going to give up when there are things for him to investigate. Sherlock is going to want to look into everything. You’re going to have your work cut out keeping him still until he’s actually well enough to be up and about. I really don’t envy you that. As soon as it’s out of his system and he’s not doped out of his mind, he is going to be a nightmare. More than usual that is.”

 

“You know what? Nightmare or not I don’t even care so long as he’s healthy again. What’s going on out there? I haven’t heard anything since we ended up in quarantine.”

 

“Mate, it’s like a bloody film. Mycroft called in a team of specialists. I’m not kidding it’s gone all 007 up there. I mean yeah, we always knew the Holmes’ and Anthea were big fish and all that, but I never expected to see any of it from the inside. It’s taking all my concentration to not just stand there and stare at everything like a kid in a sweet shop. They’ve got all of this under control I think. We’ve just got to let them do what they do best. It’s pretty safe to say that this is way out of what we’re used to, but it’s up there with the screwed up stuff they have to do.”

Movement over John’s shoulder caught Greg’s attention and he saw as Molly walked into the room. Make up free and with slight dark circles under her eyes he waved to catch her attention. When she saw them both, her face lit up and the warmth there was so genuine it was difficult not to feel the warming effect of it deep inside. With his back to her, John hadn’t seen Molly and she made miming motions which Greg managed to decipher was her asking if John was eating. Greg glanced at John’s plate and though he’d moved the food around he hadn’t really eaten much. Trying to be discreet Greg shook his head slightly and hoped Molly would see. He knew she had when a determined look settled on her face and she strode purposefully towards the kitchen and walked straight behind the busy serving counter. Greg wasn’t really surprised when no one questioned her or tried to stop her, Molly just had a way about her that meant no one was able to say no to her. 

Molly was both relieved and grateful to find Greg and John in the canteen. Well it was more than a canteen, like a little underground restaurant, she wasn’t however happy that John wasn’t eating. When she’d gone in search of breakfast, Molly had been anxious that she’d be on her own now that there was nothing she could help with and she definitely didn’t want to disturb the others. Having spent so much time alone, she thought she should be better at existing on her own. Now she had her family though, things had changed dramatically. She craved their contact as though their absence suffocated her. Molly was dealing with it as best she could, she wouldn’t be needy and demanding of them, they had enough going on that she wouldn’t add to the stress they were under with her clinginess. So while she couldn’t help with the case anymore she could help them and she knew that was what made her happiest and made her feel valued as a person, not just as a skill set. With them she was a person, loved and remembered, no holidays spent alone, no nights feeling as though should anything happen she wouldn’t be missed. If she even dared to admit it, there had been far too many of those days since her dad had died. Her lovely dad, who hadn’t wanted to go, had been scared to leave her all alone. If only he could see her now. She sent thoughts to him all the time. Look at me Dad, don’t worry about me. Look how much I’ve got and I’m not ready to send any of them to be with you just yet.

John jumped when the plate in front of him was whipped away from underneath his fork, disappearing quickly over his shoulder and then being placed at the other end of the table. He was about to unleash his pent up aggression at the person who interrupted them, until he looked up and saw Molly. Instantly the anger dissipated and was replaced with the calm that Molly brought to him. She slid a new plate in front of him before wrapping her arms around his head and giving him a quick hug from behind. He closed his eyes and settled back for a moment bringing his hands up to hold on to her arms. With her cheek against the top of his head she offered him comfort without speaking and she managed to say everything, all without saying the words. After a minute she released him and he felt her drop a kiss on his hair, the same way she did to Sherlock and he had to fight the squeeze in his chest. When she released him she nudged the plate closer to him. 

“How about not playing with this and eating it instead?”

He looked down to find a plate of toast and jam had replaced the plate of, well whatever it had been he’d had before. She turned around and John saw she had an honest to god old fashioned maids trolley and she’d filled the top with plates of food and a teapot. She doled out mugs of hot tea and pushed a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs at Greg.

“You need to eat too, Greg. Neither of you argue, it’ll take longer than actually eating. How’s he doing?” 

Molly directed the call at both of them but looked to Greg as she nudged John to eat, pushing the plate closer. 

“He’s made it so far, we’re on the count down. Anthea is with him now while I take care of John. As soon as we get some food into you John, we’ll go back but not until then.”

Molly realised that everyone else in the room was getting up and leaving, she was confused as they walked away from their still full and steaming plates. The reason for that became apparent as she turned to see where they were going and saw Mycroft standing in the doorway. She stood up but remained where she was, waiting for him to decide the timing. This was his work and she’d be damned if she’d weaken his position here, so she waited for the room to clear and him to come to her. When he nodded to the last person in the dining section he looked pointedly towards the kitchen, the chef at the counter nodded then made a call to the rest of his kitchen staff. They put down what they were doing and followed everyone else out of the room without delay. Once he was satisfied they were now alone, Mycroft closed the two heavy doors separating them from the rest of the facility. With the final click of the lock he turned and walked towards the table. Molly ushered him into her seat before sitting on his knee and placing her tea in his hand. She nudged at his shoulder with her head, looking at him until he wrapped his arm around her. Taking a sip of his tea he just took a moment to just be. Allowing himself to feel Molly’s support whilst trying to avoid the glaring space that was left in Sherlock’s absence. 

“My, come on, what’s happening?”

“Apologies my dear, it has been a long day. I have received confirmation that we are now in possession of the virus. A team eliminated the rest of Hirsch’s crew and secured the devices, they are currently en-route and will be locked away until the next decisions are made, they are no longer a threat. I wish that were the end of our journey, however now we know this may only be the beginning of another level completely. It is however the end of our involvement as a whole.”

 

“What do we do now, My?”

Mycroft addressed them all, making sure to include Greg and John, they still had parts to play in this saga and he most definitely didn’t wish for them to feel excluded when everything that happened affected them most acutely.

“We remain here for a little while longer, where you are all as safe as can be. The net around our mastermind closes even as we speak. As soon as Hunter Emmerson is located a team headed by an old friend who is as embroiled in this stage of events as any at this table. Katharina Parker-DeWitt and a specially selected group of men will descend upon his position and eliminate him. Once that is done and Sherlock is well once more, we will all be free to live as we were.”

With the prospect of an end in sight, shoulders sagged and breaths were released in wistful sighs. Greg dropped his head into his hands on the table and John, though still feeling the pain of Sherlock’s condition, allowed a smile to grace his lips as images of the future that lay ahead of them. Mycroft lowered his head and kissed Molly, just once and quickly, allowing himself that much. They sat in silence for a while, letting things soak in. John absently ate his toast and Greg shovelled the eggs into his mouth, barely pausing between mouthfuls. They all ate quickly, Molly feeding Mycroft her own breakfast, she could eat at any point and Mycroft didn’t look like he’d taken any time to himself since he’d left her to sleep. Though each of the men’s histories were very different, time was a thing that had been short for them all in their careers and they had learned that the intake of fuel was something that had to be done quickly between other things. Be it hurried meals consumed between warzone medical emergencies, sugary snacks eaten on the move between crime scenes or hasty dinners delivered by assistants between meetings that could decide the futures of many. Different fields yes, but at the core the men were the same when it came down to it and that was what drew them together in times like this, a shared understanding and determination to carry on until the job was done. When the last crumbs were gone and drinks nearly finished, Greg stood from the table.

“John, you ready mate? Time to get back to Sherlock and Anthea I think. We’ll leave you two alone, Myc you look like hell, let Molly fix you up a bit.”

Swigging the last dregs from his mug, John quickly rose to follow Greg. Greg taking John back served two purposes, it fulfilled his job of getting John sorted and it also allowed Mycroft and Molly some time. If they thought they were knackered, Greg couldn’t even imagine how Mycroft was still standing, he had been ever present and now it was his turn to be looked after and there was none better suited for the job than Molly. She was the only one he might actually listen to when she told him he needed to recharge. As John and Greg left the room they looked back once more to see Mycroft and Molly forehead to forehead and she gripped his head in her hands. Her lips moved as she spoke and Mycroft sat and listened, slowly nodding. John and Greg left with that last image in their minds as they moved quickly back to quarantine to resume their vigil.


	24. Healing Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual thanks to everyone. Thank you for sticking with me through the ups and downs of the story, Gumbie for holding my hand every step of the way. Hope you enjoy this mostly fluff chapter, it seemed like we needed one!

Chapter 24

Once the doctors left, Sherlock had settled with the help of the medication and he lay lax against the pillows. Anthea had returned to clutching at his hand but she couldn't ignore that his was relaxed in hers. He might not be holding it back but she wouldn't let go for a moment. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, scared that if she looked away for even a second he would stop breathing. That he’d give up if he wasn't constantly monitored, a stupid feeling that if she stopped being vigilant even for a moment then it would be her fault if he left. His fit had scared her, being alone with him now she could feel her anxiety growing. Anthea didn’t know how John had been coping, the isolation left only time to think and the thoughts did nothing to ease her mind. When she heard voices getting closer she was almost ashamed of the relief that flooded her system. She couldn’t handle everything she’d just witnessed on her own. She needed Greg.

As soon he entered the room and Greg saw Anthea, he knew something bad had happened. She was trying to hide it, but she was shaken and she could never hide things like that from him, even when no one else saw behind her mask. He saw the pleading in her eyes, she needed to get out of here before she succumbed to the emotions batting at her. He knew if those emotions were so clear and easy to read on her face that getting her out of quarantine and somewhere private was in order and quickly.

As soon as they entered John’s whole attention was on Sherlock, neither Greg nor Anthea existed anymore. He immediately gravitated to Sherlock without thought, he travelled to his side and sought to re-establish their contact, sliding his hand gently over Sherlock’s legs as he moved up the bed to take his place at his side once more. John’s voice was pitched low and quiet when he spoke.

“Any change Anthea, did he wake up at all?”

Torn, Anthea had only moments to speak before John became suspicious. She remembered her promise to Sherlock, keeping secrets from family didn’t sit well with her but if she told him there would be nothing positive to come from it. He would see it as Sherlock giving in, no doubt feeling guilty that he hadn’t been here when Sherlock woke up. Anthea knew that if that was allowed to happen, they’d never get John to take a break and look after himself again.

“He’s been coughing and the doctors gave him something. It’s all on the charts but I’m not familiar with what exactly it was. He wasn’t coherent, but since they dosed him he’s been pretty calm and his breathing has been regular at least, even if it does sound as scary as hell.”

John nodded, accepting what she said without question. Anthea tried to let the guilt go but it was firmly lodged in her chest alongside her fear. John seemed content to continue as he had been and pulled the chair tight to the bed, settling himself as Sherlock’s guard dog once more. Anthea moved away from the bed edging closer to the exit.

Greg could see Anthea struggling, could see she was trying not to give anything away but she was cracking under the onslaught. John appeared none the wiser for the tension and Greg was thankful all his attention was focused on Sherlock. Had the situation been different, there would have been no way to keep the collapse of Anthea from him. From the intense, obsessive way Anthea had been watching Sherlock when they entered, now her behaviour had shifted to the exact opposite. She was chancing small glances in his direction, but was having to blink rapidly and look away quickly. Greg was certain that something had happened to rattle Anthea completely and he didn’t like it one bit. With John back ensconced at Sherlock’s side, Greg didn’t feel so guilty leaving them alone once more. For now John was holding it together; Anthea however was another matter and she was crumbling before his eyes. Trying to keep the worry out of his voice Greg spoke to John, he wasn’t sure how successful he was but at least he tried.

“John? You gonna be alright here? We’ve got to go, but I’ll be back in a bit. Sherlock’s out of it for now, see if you can get some sleep in the chair while you can, yeah?”

John’s attention didn’t move from Sherlock’s form in the bed. His fingers tightly entwined with those of the unconscious man, holding on for dear life. He did nod though and didn’t put up an argument, that was just going to have to be enough. While John wasn’t watching, Greg thought Anthea might accept his comfort without panic, deciding it was safe enough to go to her and pull her so that she was flush against his side with his arm tight around her waist. Once she was tucked in close he could feel her whole body shaking. The tremors were small and while he hadn’t been able to see them he could definitely feel them. Greg realised he was running out of time when he felt them begin to worsen, knowing soon they would become visible to anyone who even glanced at her. Without further discussion he half carried her to the door supporting most of her weight with the arm that curled around her, pulling her through into the decontamination area. By the time they reached it Anthea was trembling so violently that she was unable to loosen the laces that held her in the surgical gown, her fingers fumbled as she tried several times to undo them, getting more and more agitated and upset as she went. Coming up behind her Greg stilled her hands with his, settling their weight against her skin and bracketing them gently, holding them. Her hands were cold and he rubbed at them briefly as he pulled them down to press them against her stomach as he pulled her back against him.

“Let me, Love.” 

Anthea looked over her shoulder with a look of sheer vulnerability and Greg never wanted to see an expression like that on her face again. It was breaking his heart. When he released her hands and stepped back to access the ties, Anthea’s arms fell to her sides listless and stayed there. She stood like a mannequin as he turned her this way and that as he removed the protection that served as a grim reminder of Sherlock’s state.

When Greg had at last removed Anthea’s gown and mask he lead led her to the sinks and took extreme care as he washed her beautiful, delicate hands, holding them under the warm water as he massaged the soap suds in to her stiff fingers with his much larger and rougher ones. He slid his skin over hers time and time again, trying to soothe her with the contact. Her silence concerned him greatly; it was so very unlike her to withdraw quite so completely. Greg had never seen her in such a state, not in all the years they had been together. She met every problem head on, never once letting anything stop her doing what was needed. Anthea had been able to cope up until this point, until Sherlock got sick and whatever had happened in there while he’d been with John terrified her.

“Anth, just stand there OK? I’ll get sorted as quick as I can. Then I’m going to find us somewhere where you can tell me what happened OK?”

Greg spoke softly like he would to a small child or a spooked animal. He hated to make the comparison but that was what she appeared to be right now and if he wasn’t careful he had the feeling he could make things worse rather than better.

Anthea stayed just as he had placed her, the only movements she made were the involuntary jerks that had again worsened without his contact and the occasional sniff to accompany the few tears that escaped her wet eyelashes. Now they were both clean he had the task of finding somewhere safe and secluded to uncover the truth.

 

Anthea, for possibly the first time in her career, felt weak. She was trying to fight it, she really was but she seemed trapped in a cycle. Every time she tried to pull herself to the surface she was assaulted by images of bloody sheets and the sounds of Sherlock had made while he tried to breathe. As far as Anthea was concerned the Holmes brothers were invincible, at least had been up until this point. Even though she’d been there when Sherlock overdosed, not once had she truly believed he’d die. Now it was a possibility that had become very real and she just couldn’t cope with it. She was angry with herself. She was better than this, she wasn’t weak. She’d spent a life time making sure she wasn’t vulnerable and this was undoing everything.

With each of his touches, Greg drew her back to him. She went through the motions, doing as he asked. Allowing him to do what was needed in order to get them away from here. She managed to get her vocal chords working, the voice that emerged sounded strange even to her but at least it was something.

“I’m sorry.”

Greg turned to look at Anthea when she whispered at his side.

“Anth, there’s no need to be sorry. We’ll be alright. I just need to know what’s going on so I can help. I’m going to need your help, where can we go? Somewhere quiet where we won’t be disturbed for a little while.”

With something to focus on, Anthea’s brain seemed to slip into some semblance of normal patterns, finally allowing her to think with at least a little clarity.

“Our room.”

“Our room it is then, at least I remember the way to that. Come on, let’s go. The quicker you share what happened, the quicker we can deal with the effect it’s having. I hate seeing you like this, Anth.”

When Anthea reached for him, Greg took it as a sign that he’d be able to head off this meltdown and save them both. If Anthea wasn’t functioning then Greg wouldn’t be able to either. She clung to him and Greg hurried them through the thankfully empty corridors and the lift, getting them to the room they’d left what seemed like days ago when in reality it was little more than an hour.

\------------------

 

Even after the family had left the room and Molly and Mycroft were alone at the table, Molly stayed where she was. She remained perched on his knee, acknowledging that she could have moved at any point but why when they were happy as they were? The comfort Molly offered seemed to be the one thing that Mycroft needed more than space. He was dead on his feet, fighting with each blink to open his eyes once more and now they were on their own he was allowing them to become longer and longer.

“Are you needed back up there?”

With a series of quick blinks, it took Mycroft a minute to process her words and put meaning to them. In itself the delay let Molly know exactly how exhausted he was letting himself become.

“I should return.”

“I didn’t ask if you “should”, I asked if you are needed?”

“Must you ask such difficult and complicated questions?”

“I ask the questions you need me to, the ones other people won’t ask you. Anthea is up and about, the virus is secured and on its way back. The search for Hunter is well under way and will continue in your absence. For now everything is under control and your job is on hold, correct?”

“An astute observation as always, my dearest.”

“You’ve eaten, had a cup of tea and there’s nothing you are needed for at least work wise right now. So care to explain why we’re still sitting here when there’s an extremely comfortable bed waiting?”

Molly got off Mycroft’s lap and stood next to him, holding out her hand, and waiting for him to take it.

“Molly, whilst I honestly whish wish I could. I fear I may offend you and fall asleep.”

“Well, while unfortunately that wouldn’t be the first time and the way you work might not even be the last, it wasn’t actually what I meant. You Sir, are doing nothing but sleeping.”

“Molly…”

“Ah ah ah. No. No arguments. You just agreed you had some time, so come on let’s put that to good use. This is probably the last chance you’ll get for a while and we both know it. Sooner rather than later you’re going to be God knows where, doing I don’t want to know what. So listen to my wisdom oh great and powerful Mycroft Holmes. “

 

As he stood, Mycroft feared his movements and the groans he emitted made him sound like an old man. Thankfully Molly let it pass without comment, but she was right he needed sleep no matter the protests he might make. Taking the hand she still held out to him, he pulled her towards the door.

“As my lady commands.”

“I like that.”

“What do you like?”

“Being your lady.”

“As you will ever be.”

“Any other time, Mycroft Holmes and that statement would guarantee you weren’t going to get any sleep. I guess we’ll have to bank this one for another time. Come on, the people you chased out of here deserve to finish their breakfasts too. Don’t think you get to chase people off all the time, they’re working hard too.”

“Ever the altruist.”

“Yup and you are my main focus, so if they get a little piece of nice, imagine the rest you get. You’re not exactly a stranger to altruistic behaviour either.”

“Are we not supposed to be retiring?”

Molly resisted rolling her eyes at his dodge. She tugged at his arm and once they reached the door he released her to open it and hold it for her to exit before him, then he followed closely behind.” As they walked, Mycroft caught the eye of a guard standing sentry nearby. At Molly’s nudging he addressed the man without breaking step.

“The canteen is now unoccupied, staff may resume their previous activities and those who left may return to their breakfast. Time lost due to our involvement may be recouped, their superiors to be advised of my authorisation.”

The guard nodded but otherwise remained as he had been. Satisfied that his message would be delivered, Mycroft and Molly continued on their way. He didn’t need to look down to know his actions had made Molly happy. She was swinging his arm with hers and her steps bounced as she walked.

“Would you object if I said I need to pursue one more matter before I was able to do your bidding and sleep?”

“Depends what it is, I suppose.”

“I need to pass ownership of matters over to Kat, have her take care of the handover of the virus and chair the debrief of the team upon their return.”

“Make it quick and I’ll wait for you. Be warned, I will come looking for you if I think you’re taking too long.”

Mycroft kissed Molly quickly and made sure she was heading in the right direction before he went in search of Kat. It would not be fair to leave so much on Anthea’s shoulders if he was going to be unavailable for any length of time. Dividing the responsibility between Anthea and Kat would eliminate the problem and give Kat a taste of life on the other side of an operation. He really did wish for her to join him in the near future. Perhaps working this with them would give her the push she needed to make her decision.

 

\---------------

 

Once he locked the door with them inside Greg pulled Anthea to the comfiest place in the room. Settling himself on the bed Greg leaned against the headboard with his legs spread over the mattress. He pulled at Anthea until she crawled towards him and settled herself between his thighs, her back to his chest and her head tucked under his chin.

“What happened, Anth?”

“He woke up and then it all got very real and very frightening.”

“Start from the beginning, love.”

“I don’t know if he was pretending to sleep or he really was asleep, but when you left with John, he wanted to speak to me. He thinks he’s dying, Greg. He wanted to make sure that John would be taken care of, that he’d get everything that’s his even the things Mycroft keeps in trust for him. Of course we would, but he shouldn’t be talking like that. I’m scared he’s giving up, that he’s already given up. We’re fighting for him, but Greg if he gives up it won’t even matter.”

Greg wrapped his arms tighter around Anthea. Even he had to admit it wasn’t the best sign, but he refused to believe Sherlock wasn’t going to make it through this. He understood what Sherlock had said has scared Anthea, it wasn’t enough though, not for the collapse she was having. There was more to the story and he had the feeling what had happened next was much, much worse.

“Go on love, something else happened. What was it? Tell me?”

“Blood. Oh God, Greg. There was blood, like the men in the warehouse. He started to cough and couldn’t stop and his lungs. They made noises, horrible, wet, struggling and failing noises. I never want to hear that again, Greg. He was coughing up blood, not much. Hell what am I saying, not much? Any! Any blood is too much! Isn’t it?”

“Did the doctors come?”

“Of course, they saw it too. The They whisked it away. I don’t even know if Sherlock saw, but I did. Bright red on the white sheets and I can’t get that image out of my head. Greg, what do we do if we can’t stop him ending up like the scientists? I can’t see him like that. I won’t.”

Greg couldn’t deny it, what Anthea was describing was horrific. The only response he had running through his head was a stream of swear words, fuelled by his own fear. That she’d had to see that, even worse on her own with no support tasted foul in his mouth. He struggled to deal with the images Anthea gave, it was no wonder she wasn’t coping. She’d seen what the virus did to people, seen the state the men had been in when they’d died surrounded by pools of blood as more dripped in viscous ribbons from their blue lips. She knew exactly what could happen to Sherlock and it had been an almost abstract thought until that point. The dead men had been only the “bad guys” not people to feel sympathy for, or really feel anything towards other than anger. Now, seeing in Sherlock what they had been through they were the horrendous reminder of what could happen. Without work outside of the compound for them to do, they couldn’t run from the situation anymore, burying themselves in the distractions of duties that lay elsewhere. Now they had time to think rather than just reacting and it was a very destructive process.

“I know you don’t want to see it, love. I know you don’t but you can’t stay away just in case. If something does happen and we lose him.”

Anthea let out a sob and he cursed himself for not wording that differently. He couldn’t have worded it better, there was no such thing, but he could have been gentler. He rocked her and leaning to kiss her temple, he watched as a tear escaped the corner of her eye and raced down her cheek, leaving a shining trail that was quickly renewed as another followed the same route.

“Anthea, we’re not going to. We have to believe that, but we can’t ignore what’s happening right now. If the worst happens and we do and we stayed away, you’ll never forgive yourself. You can’t let the fear keep you away, we owe it to Sherlock and to John to stand with them. Sherlock’s scared too, as soon as he asked you for help, asked you to take care of John, you know that’s as close as he is ever going to get to admitting he needs someone to help him. He wouldn’t have asked something like that if he wasn’t.”

 

Anthea was gripping Greg’s arms where they wrapped around her stomach underneath her breasts. She held on tight, digging her nails into the flesh of his arms where they were exposed by his rolled sleeves. Greg knew there would be marks and likely broken skin there when she eventually let him go but, it was a small price to pay.

“I lied to John. I promised never to lie to him, never to family. Sherlock made me promise and that’s going to eat at me. How do I keep both of them when they work against each other? I lie to the rest of the world, never to any of you. I broke my rule.”

“The situation is different right now, Anth. I know you don’t like it, but what could be gained from telling John? It wouldn’t help him, it would mean though that we’d never get him to take care of himself. He’s barely holding his shit together now, even Sherlock could see that if he made you promise. We can’t have him anymore destroyed than he already is.”

“You mean we can’t have him behaving like me right now.”

“Everyone is entitled to at some point, but no not when the only person capable of pulling him out of it is the one lying in the bed.“

Anthea’s trembling has subsided as he pressed himself close to her back, offering his heat and support, but she was sniffing and hiccupping. The latter making her body jump with their force. Normally her hiccups made Greg laugh, they came on unpredictably and could be just a few random ones or last until she lost her temper. Now they just made him incredibly sad. They sat in silence for a minute or twenty, Anthea soaking up the comfort Greg gave just with his presence and Greg breathing in her scent his nose buried in her hair. Anthea’s breathing evened and it was as though a switch had been flipped when he felt her come back to herself. Her body relaxed against him, the tension ebbing away, it was like watching a flower bloom. Where she had curled in on herself, now she stretched out, her joints loosening as she gained back some of her control.

“I’m going to be strong now.”

“You never stopped being. If you had you wouldn’t be able to make that decision. You are stronger than anyone I know, my own Valkyrie, warrior maiden extraordinaire.”

Anthea sat cradled by Greg for a long time. She wasn't sure how long, but it was enough time for his words and his offered comfort to heal the rift that had threatened to pull her apart completely. He was her strength and if he thought her strong it was only because he made her so. Anthea turned her head to lay her ear over his heart and its steady thumping rhythm soothing her further. She shuffled again and Greg's arms loosened as she turned over so that they were chest to chest. When Greg's arms held her tightly once more he wiggled them both down the pillows until they were flat on the bed, Anthea lying face down on top of Greg and incredibly content. She snuggled in closer.

“Five minutes. Just five more minutes and I'll be good to go again.”

“As long as you need. I'm not going anywhere.”

Greg started to hum softly under his breath. One of Anthea's favourite songs and one she knew he had chosen especially for her. She smiled and rubbed her cheek against his chest as the vibrations rumbled up through him and into her. The tune to “Our love is here to stay” was something she held dear to her heart and something that could often be heard in their home. Anthea sometimes managed to set the song up in his car so that when he started the engine and the stereo came on, it would be a reminder from her. Combining their song with the hands running up and down her spine, Anthea felt safe.

Greg hadn't lied, Anthea was the strongest person he knew and he had no doubt she would be back on her feet and fighting soon enough. He knew without doubt that he would always be anything and everything she needed the same as she was for him. He would never forget just how lucky he had been all those years ago, when she first walked into his life. At Mycroft’s side had stood a beautiful brunette, balanced perfectly on stiletto heels with a look of pure indifference on her face. They had crossed paths on many occasions and when she had finally bestowed the gift of a real smile on him, Greg had been lost. He’d known he was in trouble and that had been the beginning of their story. He lifted his head from the pillows and looked down at the top of her head; her hair had started to escape the careful twist and fell across his chest and obscured her face.

“Love you, Anth.”

Anthea’s warm breath seeped through his shirt with every breath she took, warming his skin with each exhalation. Her words were muffled against his chest but he heard and them all the same and perhaps because of where she was, they filled his heart that little bit more.

“Love you too.”

Greg was torn when Anthea did finally scramble to her feet and go about making herself “presentable” once more, muttering away under her breath as she hurried around the room. He was glad she was feeling better though he couldn’t help but regret that she was no longer snuggled on top of him, a place he always wanted to keep her. Regrettably that wasn’t possible and they had work to do, Anthea especially and she bustled out of the door with one last kiss and a promise to find him as soon as she could, suggesting he go back to John and Sherlock. He saw the look in her eye and knew she needed him to be there with them to watch over them both for her. If that is what she needed to placate her then he wouldn't be arguing at any point, hell he wanted to keep his eye on them himself.


	25. Delegation and difficult decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well you kind of know how this bit goes by now, but here we go. Thank you to everyone new and old who is reading and enjoying and commenting and leaving kudos. You make every frustrated moment when someone won't do what I need them to do to move the story on, or when I'm sat staring at the notebook praying to the muses for the next word, worth every minute of pain. 
> 
> Thank you to my Gumbie for everything.

Chapter 25

Mycroft found Kat in the conference room. She sat alone at the table, a high specification laptop in front of her as she faced the large television screen on the wall.

“We have specialist suites full of equipment that exist purely for this purpose, Kat.”

“What do I need one of those for? Got everything I need here.”

She didn’t take her eyes off the live security camera feed that tracked the movements of the convoy as it returned with its deadly cargo. Once she had talked them through the next set of directions she wanted them to take, she muted the headset she wore with a touch of her finger to the earpiece.

“And as you know I work better alone.”

“A partial truth at best.”

Kat didn’t answer, she didn’t even look at him. Instead she focused her whole attention of the ever changing views of the vehicles before her.

“You’ve got one minute before I need to get this lot through the next potential delay, best make whatever you’ve come here for quick.”

Mycroft recognised when Kat wasn’t going to let him take an issue further and there were none as stubborn as the pair of them if they decided something. She did at least turn the chair so that she was facing him.

“I require you to take my place for a little while. Molly insists I take advantage of the apparent momentary lull to sleep.”

“No problem. The usual?”

“Indeed, supervise the transfer from Max’s team to the scientists. Lead the debrief. You are well aware of the procedures.”

“Usually I’m on the other side of the table, but I think I’ll cope somehow. Go sleep, you look like shit.”

Blunt as ever and not pulling her punches, Mycroft had the feeling he’d been dismissed when she span the chair back to her original position and focused once more on the task at hand. He despaired over the fact that she rejected the technology and advances he made available to her, but Kat was a wonder at working with limited resources and making fantastic things happen. That was just another of the reasons he believed she would make a valuable addition to the organisational side of the operations. Just as Mycroft was about to leave her to her work, Kat spoke to him again, not stopping what she was doing as she continued to typed furiously at the laptop keyboard.

“They’re good you know? Like we were at their age.”

“We are considerably improved now. Consider however, the age at which we began our journey. We were much younger than they and the world was a different creature than the one we live in now. It made different demands.”

Mycroft looked at the segregated screens and focused his attention on the feed of the interior of the vehicle that contained the virus as well as Max and Kendo. It sat at the centre of her eye line and Mycroft could only speculate as to its significance. He would however keep any such observations to himself as he returned his gaze to the back of her head.

“We are not that much older, not as much as it seems I assure you.”

Kat humphed at him and he knew that was the only answer he was going to get when she touched the earpiece once more and began to speak.

“I’ve cleared your path but there’s a traffic jam on the original route. Nothing suspicious just London being herself, go through the next lights which will be green and take the first left, I’ll talk you in from there. We’re going on a detour boys.”

Mycroft left Kat to her work; she was more than competent and didn’t need him hovering over her shoulder where he wasn’t required. Knowing that between Anthea and Kat the situation was well in control and would be managed expertly, certainly allowed him a degree of comfort and relieved some of the guilty tension he felt. Hopefully that would translate into allowing him to achieve at least some sleep.

 

\--------

Once the convoy had cleared the last hurdle and Kat wasn’t needed to talk them through the last stage, she closed the laptop and tucking it under her arm worked her way up to the surface to await their arrival. She had called to have the scientists who would be taking control of the canisters meet her on the roof with all of the safety equipment required. Once it was in the compound and secured under their control there could be at least a moment to breathe. Not long until she had to go and take care of the ghost from her past, but until they managed to find the bastard there was nothing she could do.

Their arrival took longer than she had expected and by the time they were rolling through the entry way Kat was tapping her foot in agitation. When the vehicles finally stopped, the scientists rushed forwards and the doors were opened, Max jumped out of the driver’s seat and headed in her direction.

“What the bloody hell do you call this, Max?”

He shrugged his shoulders and carried on in her direction with a swagger in his step.

“Slight delay?”

“Is that a question? Reason for delay?”

“Calm yourself Ms Parker -DeWitt. Even we have to stop for kids on a zebra crossing.”

Kat tried to calm the temper that was rising in her blood. Closing her eyes, biting at her lips and breathing deeply she tamped it down with more than a little difficulty. At her elbow someone cleared their throat and while she glared at Max she signed the official paperwork and the scientists moved the canisters inside.

When the doors closed and the only people left on the roof were her and the team, she continued to glare at Max. Around them the rest of the team emerged from vehicles full of jubilation and excess energy that would dissipate quickly with the adrenaline of a job well done. They had done a good job, performing a textbook explosive entry, clear and sweep of location, eliminating the targets. While she couldn’t fault their execution and professionalism whilst working, there was just something about Max that rankled at her. He fidgeted in front of her and the movement caught her attention. She scanned him head to foot, taking in the details and working over them in her mind, focusing quickly on pearls of blood that dripped down his arm and had begun to pool at his feet. It was movement associated with that, which had drawn her attention. He kept wiping his palm against the black of his cargo trousers, his fingers running over the nylon bands of his thigh holster as he tried to clear some of the crimson stickiness that coated his fingers.

“I believe you advised no injuries?”

“Nah, never said that, said no fatalities on our side. 100% mortality rate on theirs.”

“Hmm, perhaps not, but you did fail to advise of your injury and now I find you leaking at an impressive rate before me.”

“No need to worry about me, Ms Parker-DeWitt.”

“I am concerned only for the complications and increased paperwork you are currently responsible for.”

“Tis but a scratch!”

Kat fought back the urge to shake her head and smile. She managed to maintain her composure and stern expression despite herself. She couldn’t ignore however the fact that she was noticing he was rather handsome even if he was currently dripping blood on the floor and standing in front of her sweaty and grimy but still cracking jokes. Kat exhaled sharply through her nose as she turned and walked away, undeniably he is also several years her junior. Turning back one last time she locked her eyes with him and called out over the distance between them.

“Max, get it sorted. Then I want everyone in for the debrief. I won’t have you ruining the furniture. Blood’s a bitch to get out.”

 

As Kat walked the remaining distance to the door she may have had a little more sway in her step than normal, but she didn’t turn round to see if she was being watched. She didn’t need to; intuition told her she was being watched rather intently.

\--------

When Mycroft made it to the room he’d previously put Molly to bed in, he found her sitting with her back to the headboard, legs stretched out in front of her. She looked pointedly at the clock by the bed and then back to him.

“Just in time, I was about to call the cavalry”

“I was with the cavalry. I know you have already slept Molly, but please stay. I know you’re right, however if I have to sleep I do not wish to have to do so alone.”

Scrambling off the bed, Molly was quickly in front of him, her hands resting on his chest.

“You’re not alone. I’m here and of course I’ll stay. We’re almost there, we are. There’s just one more thing, one more hurdle and we can forget the outside world for a little bit and focus on Sherlock and us. We’ve got help now, you called them. Just trust them to do as you need them to.”

Molly started to strip Mycroft, something that seemed to happen a lot lately, her switching his traditionally held role and taking care of him. Each and every time it happened, Molly had the feeling that it startled him slightly, not used to having anyone he can lean on when everything started to get that much more demanding. When he’s with her, Molly knows he’s the vulnerable person he can’t allow to exist out there in the real world. She was privileged to see this and she didn’t always get too. He was her rock, the strength she didn’t have he gave to her. Situations like this might be the only chances he allows her to offer it in return. Once his suit was removed and she’d laid it over the back of a chair, Molly settled him into the bed and climbed in next to him. Running her fingers over his face she curled herself around him and spoke softly, all the while running the tip of her finger over his forehead and down his nose to the tip before retracing the path. At her caress Mycroft’s eyes drifted closed and he let out puffs of breath and satisfied murmurs. 

“I like Kat you know, she doesn’t take crap from anyone. She’s the female version of you, isn’t she? She’s here to help and we’re going to let her. She’ll work with Anthea and it’ll all be fine. I won’t fight you and try to make you get as much sleep as you need. But you need to get a few hours at least.”

Molly caressed the dark circles under his eyes, rubbing them gently with the pad of her thumb. So long as his eyes were closed Molly could allow the concern she felt to show on her face. There was sadness, love, worry and admiration in equal measures crossing her features as she looked at him. 

“You’re even paler than normal, all your freckles are standing out and I don’t like seeing these under your eyes, but they aren’t going to go away on their own. Sleep Mycroft Holmes, don’t be so bloody stubborn. I’ll stay here as long as you’ll sleep. Then we can carry on fighting the good fight or whatever the hell it is we’re doing.”

“You truly believe we are almost there, Molly?”

“I believe in you. That’s enough.”

Mycroft didn’t open his eyes again, his breathing evened and he slipped into sleep quickly. Molly stayed as she was, looking down at him for a little longer, just watching his chest rise and fall steadily. Well familiar with Mycroft’s sleep patterns, Molly knew he was as deeply asleep as it was possible for him to be and it wouldn’t matter what she did, he wouldn’t wake up. It was a curious thing about Mycroft, anyone else in the room and he wouldn’t have been able to sleep but Molly came under the radar and unless she was in trouble and expressed it so, he would stay asleep, at ease with being vulnerable in her presence. Rolling onto her back and propping herself up against the headboard, Molly reached for a book she had found in the bedside table and opened it, surprisingly it was a novel and not a biography of some kind. It was a Jack Aubrey book of all things, tales of the high seas and adventures. Molly looked at the man asleep next to her with soft eyes and a gentle smile. Sherlock may have wanted to be a pirate, but it seemed his brother also had dreams of sailing the seas as a captain, just at the opposite end of the moral spectrum. Getting comfortable, Molly settled to read in the glow from the bedside lamp. 

\----------------------

Anthea was surrounded by activity as bodies hurried around the command centre in the middle of the compound. She was back on ground she understood, having something to focus on really did make the difference to how she functioned and though she wasn’t ignoring what had happened, she was able to move through it and carry on. Around the room maps of sections of South America were blown up and displayed on screens all around the perimeter. Teams of individuals worked sector by sector eliminating towns, cities and eventually whole countries in their search for Hunter Emmerson. While she watched those maps areas were highlighted and then blacked out as they were cleared with no signs. With each location eliminated the stress levels grew in the room. People seeing another area removed added more pressure to those with countries still in the running. The clock was ticking quickly and everyone knew it. Normally being able to eliminate such vast areas would be a good thing, but then normally they would at least have something to go on. They may be closing the net but as far as they had been able to tell so far, the net was empty.

The room hummed with raised voices speaking in rapid Spanish and Portuguese with even the odd smattering of English thrown in for good measure. None of the lines of communication had been quiet for a long time, the faces changed as people came and went with shift changes, a constant shifting as the work continued despite the hour and regardless of fatigue. Name by name they plundered every contact that could be gathered, anyone who had any contacts within the continent was spoken to as they sought any information that would find the elusive Hunter. There was no way to speed up this process, this was the modern day legwork of the job as frustrating as it was there was no way to avoid it, with so little information logged for the man it would all come down to the human element and luck.

As Anthea watched as the images on the screens changed, with new more current information appearing replacing outdated and discarded leads, each piece was considered and investigated before disappearing as it was eliminated from their search. There was tantalising talk throughout the most of the drug producing countries of a foreign white man that no one wanted to deal with but were forced to due to his staggering monopoly on the market. The mystery surrounding the man teased them, from what they heard and given the money that had been needed for Hunter’s exploits leading up to their recent situation; this foreign drug baron seemed like their best lead. However, they couldn’t identify him, no one could or rather no one would talk. All they had was the name the man was known by on the street. “The Cannibal”. A name that Anthea had to admit did not reassure her in any way.

Anthea sat at what had fast become “her” desk. A junior operative placed a cup in front of her and she nodded her thanks as he disappeared again. Whist getting coffee might not seem like the best job to have, just the opportunity to witness an undertaking such as this was a learning experience very few would ever get to enjoy.

“Ma’am, sorry to disturb you.”

Anthea’s head snapped around and she focussed her attention on the man that stood before her. She raised her eyebrows in question and waved her hand at him to indicate he had her attention and to continue while she sipped at the hot bitter liquid.

“I think we’ve got something, Ma’am.”

Anthea went from mildly interested to staring at the man with a laser like intensity; he definitely had her full attention now. She maintained her composure but the kick in her heartbeat was undeniable, it was premature perhaps but there was a hint of hope in the almost staccato rhythm.

“Explain.”

“It’s a grainy picture at best, but it’s the first image we’ve managed to confirm as “The Cannibal”. We just need someone to confirm if the man in the picture is or isn’t the man we are looking for. If not we can move on.”

 

He handed Anthea a tablet displaying a black and white image that was, as he stated, of less than perfect clarity. Looking at the picture she tried to tally what she was seeing with the image of the man they searched for. Putting her coffee down safely at the end of the desk she rummaged through the brown folders that covered the middle of the surface, searching for the one that contained an image of Hunter from the days Mycroft and Katharina had known him. While it was old, the man’s face shouldn’t have changed so dramatically that he couldn’t be identified. Though Hunters image could be seen on screens around the room Anthea wanted to compare the images directly side by side, only then would she be happy with the validity of her comparison. If she made the wrong call at this point, she could either send them full force at the wrong man or dimmer outcome, she could dismiss the right man and waste time and resources when they had been so close. It was a lot of responsibility to bear, there could be no acceptable mistakes at this point. Once Anthea located the correct cartridge paper brown file she flipped it open and pulled out a picture. She sat in silence for a long minute, looking from one image to the other and trying to play an adult game of spot the difference with the face before her. The flickering of her eyes the only movement as she silently judged the images. She wasn’t one hundred percent convinced but it was creeping towards the higher end of the scale. She was at least confident enough to have it looked into at least for a moment, more information was always welcomed. 

“Who and Where?”

“The Cannibal. The town outside his compound in Chile.”

“Get me everything everyone has on this guy, it’s likely this is the man we’ve been looking for.”

He disappeared quickly back to the team he had come from, Anthea looked as there were muted expressions of victory. For them yes, locating their target was something to celebrate, that had been the extent of their task after all. Anthea knows however that if her conviction is born out and The Cannibal is Hunter, then this was only the beginning of another dangerous situation. So as far as she was concerned any feelings of victory were extremely premature but she wouldn’t jump on them for feeling as they did, after all they weren’t as directly affected as the family were.

Reaching for her ever present phone, Anthea hit the speed dial for Mycroft. Before she diverted all the attention to finding The Cannibal she needed his opinion, confirmation and approval. The phone rang unanswered for several moments which was almost unheard of for Mycroft, he usually answered within three. Eventually a tentative whispering voice came on the line.

“Anthea?”

“Mols? Is everything ok?”

“I didn’t know whether to answer or not, but I saw your name and well, you know I’d never answer this phone otherwise right?”

“Mols, it’s alright it’s just me don’t panic. Is he there?”

Molly looked over to the bed, Mycroft was sprawled on his front, face turned to one side and half buried in the pillow he’d tucked his arm under. The sheets had worked their way down to his waist with his movements and as usual he’d managed to work one leg from under the blanket. He looked so peaceful it hurt to know she was going to have to wake him up. Even the light from the bedside table didn’t bother him and he usually preferred to sleep in perfect darkness. The light though did allow her to see the pale smooth expanse of his back, only broken by the smattering of freckles that covered his skin. She loved those marks, every single one of them. One day, when they had time(,) Molly was going to make him lie there while she counted each one, praising each one’s existence with a kiss of its own. Though there was a flaw in that plan Molly supposed, there’d be no way she’d manage to keep him still long enough; not while she worshipped his back, knowing him he’d quickly switch their places and have her on hers instead. Shaking her head at the image she quickly placed her focus back on Anthea.

“My’s out for the count and didn’t even move when the phone rang and you know how he’s usually tuned in to that.”

“Shit, how long’s he been out?”

“About two and a half hours. Enough to keep him going if he really needs to be, but not enough for him to be awake for the next three days.”

“I hate to have to do this, even to ask it. But Mols, can you wake him up for me? I promise it’s important.”

“Give me five, I’ll get him to call you back.”

“Molly, I need to tell you. Sherlock, he’s getting worse.”

“What happened, Anth?”

The pause Anthea took did nothing to ease the tension in Molly's stomach, but she waited for her to speak.

“I was with him, he started to cough and couldn't stop and he coughed up blood and burst the blood vessels in his eyes.”

Molly looked at Mycroft again, trying to confirm he was still asleep. As a precaution she moved quietly to the bathroom and carefully closed the door.

“Did his doctors take extra steps? Did they intubate?”

“No they gave him a relaxant and said not to worry about his eye.”

“Ok, we knew this was going to happen, it doesn't make it any easier, but if he’s still breathing on his own and the clock has nearly run down, we’re doing better than I feared.”

“Molly, will you tell Mycroft?”

Molly had to think about that one. It wasn't in her nature to withhold information from him, it wasn't how they worked. She lowered her voice just in case.

“He gains nothing by knowing, he won't be able to see it the same way I do. I can see it with trained eyes, Mycroft will only feel it. We don't tell him Anthea. He’s going to check in on his general condition anyway, he needs the outlook not the details. He still has work to do and he’ll focus on the “what if” and I can't let him do that, it's too destructive. If anything more happens though, any downturn, we don't hold it back. This isn't about keeping Mycroft out of it, you know we couldn't anyway, but it just protects him a little bit longer. I'll be going down there later anyway. I can see for myself what's happening and we can plan from there. I’ll monitor everything and I can make any more decisions when I'm there.”

 

“Thanks, I’m sorry. That I have to wake him and that I had to bring the bad news. I didn't tell John either, did I do the right thing? Please tell me I did the right thing.”

“Anthea listen to me, OK? John and Mycroft can’t handle knowing it alright? Even if they did they couldn’t do anything about it. They don’t need any more negative thoughts, it won’t help them. If they can’t fix it what’s the point of giving them information that will devastate them and send them spinning? They need to know Sherlock won't be left alone and neglected, he’s with us and he’s looked after. His care stays the same. We carry this for them, Anthea. We look after them as much as we can. Their wellbeing is as important to us as Sherlock’s, can you do this with me?”

Molly heard the relief and determination in Anthea's voice. Molly’s talk had apparently eased that vulnerable part inside Anthea that most people didn't know existed.

“Yes. I can do that. How do you always know what to say?”

“You have your talents and I have mine. There is nothing more important to me than all of you and I’ll look after you as much as I can.”

“Thanks, Mols.”

“I'm here to help as much as I can. Them and you Anth, don't forget it. You can come to me any time. I’d best go wake My up, we knew he wouldn’t get to sleep long. I wish it was longer but I’m really surprised it’s been this long to be honest.”

As she hung up, Molly crept back out of the bathroom and moved to look down on Mycroft’s sleeping form. She had to push down the emotions that had her questioning her decision not to tell Mycroft about Sherlock’s episode. She didn't have time to doubt her decisions, her gut said it was the right one to make. Mycroft not knowing didn't change anything for the worse. He would still see Sherlock, he wasn't going to stay away, but it would allow him to remain in control. Sherlock’s change was another progression that had been expected, not welcomed, but expected all the same. Although it had come later than Molly had predicted which in itself was reassuring. If Sherlock was only now reaching the coughing and lung damage and he’d managed to stay off the ventilator, Molly still held hope. She knew how bad it could be, could chart the virus beginning to end with a time frame so perhaps it was only her that felt it, but there was definitely a little bit of relief and a lot of hope. Even in his sleep Mycroft’s face hadn’t truly relaxed. Reaching out her hand, Molly stroked the furrows between his eyebrows with her thumb, trying to erase the lines embedded there.

“My, wake up. Anthea needs to speak to you.”

He stirred and opened one eye reluctantly, but Molly could tell he wasn’t truly awake.

“Almost there, come on My. I know you don’t want to wake up but it sounds important.”

With a series of grunts and groans he flopped around on the bed and despite herself, she chuckled. She hated to have to wake him so soon but he was incredibly cute when he woke up. Molly knew he’d argue that description, adamant that at no point was he ever “cute” but she would always return it with evidence of times like this. Mycroft’s eyes remained closed but she could tell by his breathing that he was indeed now awake. Leaning over him she grasped at his left arm, pulling at it until he finally cooperated and allowed her to drag it over his body. Molly levered his fingers apart, opening his hand so she could press the phone into his palm before wrapping her own hand around the back of his so that she could curl them into place so that he was holding it.

Still he didn’t move to make the call and Molly touched his face and with her forefinger and thumb, gently prised the lids of his right eye apart. When it was open, his eye swivelled to look at her and as she rolled her gaze his lips twitched into a small smile. A little bit of silliness to cut through everything wouldn’t hurt after all.

“Stop being so difficult, Anthea needs to speak to you. I’m going to the bathroom to give you some privacy.”

As Molly straightened to disappear behind a closed door, Mycroft reached out with quick reflexes and grabbed her wrist in his strong fingers, secure but not painful. With a quick tug he pulled her off balance and she tumbled on top of him with a squeak.

“Privacy not required, it is Anthea.”

Molly struggled to right herself and leave the bed but he held her fast to him. No matter how much she tried there was no getting free.

“But it’s work!”

“Anthea.”

“Sure?”

“Perfectly. You are causing delay by being obstinate.”

“Big words, now I know you’re awake.”

Giving in, Molly got comfy, allowing herself to find extra warmth in his sleep warmed body. She knew he’d be up as soon as he finished the call anyway. When Molly slid sideways off his chest to land beside him on the bed, Mycroft wound his arm underneath her and using his deceptive strength pulled her close to his side. She could see him tapping the keys on the screen before pressing it to his ear with a sigh.

Slightly more alert due to the scant few hours uninterrupted sleep he’d managed to get, Mycroft was still reluctant to fully shake the grips of lethargy just yet. With Molly tightly at his side he allowed the dream world to exist at the fringes of his consciousness just a little while longer, even with the real world encroaching ever closer via the phone ringing in his ear. When it was answered, Anthea didn’t even give him time to speak.

“Mycroft, I need you to come to the command room as soon as possible. I think we’ve found him, but I need you to make the final ID and make the call.”

“You sound somewhat positive without my input.”

“We have an image and a pseudonym, but the picture is not exactly perfect. I need you to look at the image and tell me if it’s him. I think it’s him. But I don’t want to make the decision and be wrong.”

“How convinced are you?”

“Eighty percent, maybe? The match looks good, but yeah the final say needs to come from you.”

“Thank you, Anthea. I shall arrive promptly.”

As Anthea hung up he turned to Molly who looked at him expectantly, worry and concern written on her face.

“We’ve found him Molly, I’m sure of it. I have to go.”

Molly watched as Mycroft pushed himself from the bed and moved to get ready. She could still see the fatigue that battered at him, but she knew he would continue to push that aside as much as he was able to. Not having time to shower, she saw him grimace when he had to dress again in the clothes he’d removed those few hours before. Molly knew as soon as he had a minute he’d be back here to make himself presentable enough to appease him. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror he shuddered and put his hands to his hair with a grumble, trying to smooth down the chaos that lay there. Molly loved his bed hair, it curled and stuck up at amusing angles and brought all kinds of warm feelings to her chest. One day, Molly decided, there’d be beautiful children with curls just like those. They just had to make their world safe again and Mycroft would do that, Molly had no doubt. She just hoped the decisions she made didn't blow up in her face. After all, the road to hell was paved with good intentions.


	26. The Changing of the Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer one for you this time, but it felt like it all needed to be in this one. 
> 
> I'd like to say a huge thank you to everyone who is reading this, to my stalwarts and the new readers who've just found this. To everyone taking the time to leave a comment or kudos, your feedback is so greatly appreciated I really can't say thank you enough. The response to my efforts have been completely overwhelming and frankly rather a shock to me. You are all fabulous. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my fantastic MyCitrusPocket who's a cheerleading section all on her own. Couldn't do it without you Gumbie. xxxx

Once Anthea had gone back to work, Greg went in search of something to do. He knew he should be going to Sherlock and John, but he needed to work off some energy. Anthea had told him there was a gym down here somewhere; he hadn’t really listened to where as it wasn’t the gym he wanted, he wanted to walk. No he needed to walk really, it was his way of clearing his mind. There were many late nights he’d spent walking thought the streets of London, the city was different at night; her personality changed dramatically, becoming all at once calm and chaotic and it had been his to watch over for a long time. Starting with his days on the beat over the years he’d walked the now familiar streets. Although he would love to feel the fresh air in his lungs and the breeze against his face, Greg didn’t think he’d get the ok to leave and walk above ground just yet; he would just have to make do with the endless corridors for the time being. With his hands clasped behind his back Greg wandered without destination, taking any turn he felt like, just listening to the echoing taps of his footsteps on concrete at first and later carpet as he entered more occupied areas. Greg was rounding a carpeted corner lost in thought and was surprised to almost collide with another person, without looking up he apologised instantly and stepped to the right at the same time the other person stepped left.

“Greg, while I’d love to dance, I do not believe this is the place and we may have an interesting time explaining it to Anthea and Molly.”

Greg jumped at the familiar voice and finally looked at the man he had almost run down.

“Shit, Mycroft! Why didn’t you say something?”

“You appeared deep in thought. Are you well?”

“Well, yeah. Just needed to walk, you know? But you might be able to help.”

“Of course, what troubles you?”

“Anthea. She’s struggling with… well all of this really. Keep an eye on her for me?”

“Has something happened to her?”

“No, no. Physically she’s fine. She took it hard seeing Sherlock that’s all, she’s been so busy it was the first time she’d managed to see him since he was brought in. I can’t be with her all the time so I need you to look out for her. She’s not holding up as well as she’d like us to believe.”

“You have my word. If you would do me one favour later?”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“Once you have worked through what you need to, would you collect Molly and escort her to Sherlock and John? I imagine you will be attending anyway.”

“Yeah, no worries, I’ll go get her in a bit. I’ve not got much else to do here. “

“Greg, what you are doing is vital. Do not for one moment think that it is not. With Sherlock and John in your collective care, it is one less thing for Anthea and I to worry about. You are indispensable.”

 

Greg was shocked at Mycroft’s statement, but hearing it did help. He felt a little less adrift knowing that he was helping at least in some form, for a man like him being idle or at least feeling like he was did not sit well. He nodded, knowing that nothing else needed to be said and that Mycroft would understand the depths of what he asked as well as what he wasn’t saying. They both nodded at each other and with one last side step a piece that had them once again moving in the same direction, Mycroft smiled and stood still so that Greg could walk around him and continue on his way. Twisting at the waist Mycroft turned to watch Greg wander around another corner and out of sight. Greg was indeed concerned for Anthea’s wellbeing and if he was sufficiently unnerved to enlist his aid in monitoring her condition for signs of deterioration, then he would make sure he was mindful of her position at all times. She wouldn’t thank him for hovering over her shoulder or molly coddling, but there was more than one way to maintain a watchful eye and he was well versed in such things.

 

When Mycroft reached his intended destination he was quickly enveloped by a hive of activity. Searching amidst the sea of busy figures he looked for Anthea, his gaze quickly finding her amongst the crowd. More specifically he could just about see the top of her head, the familiar chestnut shine making her stand out from the throng of bodies around her. The men and women that surrounded her were jostling for position, brandishing sheets of paper in varying sizes. Once Mycroft arrived on the periphery of the group, he merely waited for his presence to be noted.

Mycroft took the time he went unnoticed by the crowd to observe Anthea. It was not difficult to deduce from his observations that Greg has understated the situation. The slight signs he could see on her face suggested she had spent time crying and recently. There was still a faint puffiness to her face overall and her eyes held a redness that was unusual for her. Mycroft had no doubt she appeared unchanged from her usual self to all of those around her now, but it was impossible to hide such things from those who knew you best. Anthea was without doubt holding herself together right now, but it was with a tenuous grip. Mycroft felt remorse for not having noticed previously, though at least it was now on his radar and he would not neglect her state again. For now though he watched her at the centre of attention, she held court as well as any great queen. Mycroft felt great pride at the sight of the woman he had watched her grow in to over the years command such respect.

Unsurprisingly it was Anthea herself who saw him first. She looked up briefly and caught sight of him over the top of the heads around her. Immediately she held up both hands in the universal signal for stop and indeed they did.

“Enough for now, return to what you were doing. When you have more and I am not otherwise indisposed you can come back to me.”

Leaving it at that, Anthea made her way to him as the group around her parted wordlessly to let her pass. Before long she stood in front of him, close enough that she had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. 

“Sir, shall we?”

She waited until he walked away from the crowded room, at his entrance the noise within had dimmed dramatically to hushed tones but they would conduct their business in private. Mycroft deliberately paid no attention to the reaction his presence had garnered, but it was always quite a dramatic reminder of his status. On their way past what Mycroft assumed to be Anthea’s appropriated desk she reached out and snagged an A4 sized brown envelope from the surface.

Once they were enclosed in one of the offices that lead off the main room, Anthea handed him the envelope. Mycroft leant against the edge of the desk. In this closed room with no observers from outside the family there was no need to maintain the public persona. With hands that dared to tremor slightly he opened the envelope and slowly withdrew its contents. Turning over the photographs he allowed his eyes to slide over the images. He didn’t need to scrutinise the young face in the older image, it was one he knew well and as soon as he saw its partner, as grainy as it was there was, no doubt in his mind. Hunter Emmerson was alive and well and living in Chile. Mycroft realised he must have been silent and nonreactive for a fair amount of time when a small hand lay gently on his forearm.

“Mycroft?”

He took a deep breath and worried at his bottom lip for a moment before trusting his voice enough to speak evenly.

“Your feelings were correct. I can confirm that the man in the second photograph is one and the same with the first image. What do we know about him?”

He dropped the photographs face down on the desk behind him and didn't look at them again, placing all his focus on Anthea instead. She’d been under that scrutinous gaze many times before and it would unnerve anyone lesser but Anthea understood what Mycroft was doing. If distancing himself from his past relationship with their quarry was what he needed to process the confirmation, then so be it.

“Not enough to move on yet, but we get closer with each phone call. At least now I can have all the teams focus the search it should be easier. He seems to be in control of most of the drug trafficking in Chile. The authorities haven’t been able to do anything about him and as far as I know we are the only ones ever to identify him. Everyone is afraid of him, he’s untouchable.” 

Mycroft thought about Kat and her sheer determination. He needed to be the one to tell her, he needed to deliver the information. Mycroft didn’t think there was anyone else who could deal with her temper and state when she learnt they had a location.

“Not everyone and no one is untouchable. We are going to have to make some rather tense phone calls. Who do we know within the country?”

Anthea knew that Mycroft was unsettled by the image and the ripple effect it was having as soon as he asked that question. Mycroft knew everyone and if he was thinking with complete clarity he wouldn’t have had to ask for assistance.

“The President for one, but you know the big players in the military too whether they are visible or hold roles such as yourself. Best bet though? I’d go with Vincente Olivares, he’s your guy.

“Of course, please do excuse me.”

“Mycroft, it’s me, not a stranger. We’ve been through a lot and we’ll go through more. You don’t have to pretend.”

“I am sorry, Anthea. It is a lot to think about. I need to inform Kat.”

“Go, I’ve got this. I’ll get the information we need and find you when I have a decent enough picture of the situation for us to make decisions. Go talk to Kat, it won’t do for her to hear this from someone else.”

"Thank you.”

 

Anthea watched as Mycroft straightened and left the office deep in thought. Once he exited the main room, Anthea moved to the doorway to the office. All the faces stared back at her in anticipation, the energy in the room palpable.

“The Cannibal is confirmed as Hunter Emmerson.”

An excited hum went around the room and Anthea signalled for everyone’s silence and attention.

"I want everything. I want to know everything about him, where he lives, where he gets his morning coffee. What are his weaknesses? Most of all I want to know where he is now and what kind of security does he have? Find him people.”

The volume level in the room raised once more, each person revived with new vigour at the news. The Excitement of the chase adding to the charged atmosphere as activity resumed with added energy. Anthea had a few contacts of her own and she was about to see what she could do to help the situation directly. After all, all men like Mycroft needed their own Anthea.

 

\-----(000)-----

 

Mycroft didn’t have to search for long before he found Kat, she’d gravitated back to the conference room she’d co-opted during her support of Max and the team. He quietly let himself into the room. Never quiet enough for her to miss but she didn’t acknowledge him either  
“If you spend any more time in this room, I may as well have your name put on the door.”

“Ah so the wanderer returns.”

Mycroft refused to rise to the occasion. Kat knew exactly how to push his buttons, almost as well as Sherlock. No he wouldn’t think about Sherlock right now, it would only delay proceedings and he couldn’t risk becoming distracted right now.

“Am I to take your current inactivity to mean the debrief went well?”

“Sure everything went fine. I really don’t know why you complain so much, it’s a lot easier on this end. You don’t even get shot at.” 

“Most amusing, Katharina.”

“Ooh full name. Am I in trouble?”

“Do you have need to be? Are you suffering a guilty conscience? Do you have something you need to tell me?”

“No, everyone is winding down and working off the adrenaline(,) some in the gym, some in the TV room and Max in medical, again.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Slight leakage problem. Only half patched before the debrief, when he started to drip again I sent him back to have it looked at properly. Not good at following orders is he?” 

“On the job he is impeccable, whether that can be attributed to Kendo’s influence is a murky point of discussion. Should you not be taking advantage and seeking rest also?”

Kat shook her head and looked at her watch, snarling in agitation. She reached for Mycroft’s arm and grasping at his sleeve dragged him closer. With an undignified stumble, Mycroft righted himself and permitted the wrinkling of his suit as Kat pushed his sleeve awkwardly upwards towards his elbow. Twisting his arm rather uncomfortably Kat got the view she wanted of his watch. 

“Kat?”

“Not had a chance to change mine, I’ll stop later, I’m reviewing mission footage. I need to know who you’ll be sending with me. Been a while since I worked with a real team.”

“That is has, however you could not wish for a more experienced group of men to watch your back.”

“Seems so, but we’ll see. You didn’t come here for a social call Myc, what do you want to tell me?”

“To the root then, Hunter has been located. He is in Chile, known by the pseudonym “The Cannibal” as to what actual name he’s going under, we do not yet have that information. It appears our friend has made quite a name for himself.”

“Put me on the ground.”

“Kat, we do not even know where within the country he is.”

“Irrelevant, if I’m already in the country when you do find him it’s going to be quicker to get me there, isn’t it?”

Mycroft had known this wasn't going to be an easy conversation and now he wished he’d taken the time to prepare as he would any meeting. Twenty years and still Kat managed to frustrate him beyond measure. No matter the amount of times he counted to ten in his head he couldn't keep the exasperation out of his voice. His anger rising at her seeming ambivalence to the bigger picture, she was single minded and if she continued as she was, there would be little he could do to safeguard her against even her own gung-ho nature. Along with his temper his voice, usually too steadfastly controlled, burst from him sharp and annoyed.

“Katharina, must you be do damn stubborn? There is more at stake here than you are willing to contemplate. Perhaps this was his plan all along, perhaps we are playing right into his hands.”

“It doesn’t change anything, Mycroft. Regardless of his plans, we will do what needs to be done. Whatever it takes. Get me into Chile Mycroft and soon.”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, he knew there would be no reasoning with her. This was going to be a political nightmare, he needed to speak to Anthea and see what channels they could use, be they official or otherwise. This was going to be a nightmare. Sending what amounted to an armed incursion into a foreign country could, quite rightly be construed as an aggressive move if it wasn’t handled correctly. A logistical nightmare as well, he definitely needed to speak to Anthea, her opinion and help with the matter would be invaluable. They had a lot of planning to do and not a lot of time to accomplish it in.

“Mycroft, stop looking at me like that, I’m not stupid. The quicker we get this sorted the quicker we can all get back to living our lives. See what I’m saying, Mycroft. You know it makes sense for me to be there, it’s not just me being single minded. I’m not so blindsided by this that I don’t see the bigger picture. You don’t have to protect me so much. I see it you know? What you’re doing? You don’t need to put me under your wing anymore, you’ve got too many under there already. I’m a big girl now Mycroft, I’ve seen the world and it’s seen me and we came to an agreement a long time ago. Speak to Anthea, I know you need to, she’ll help. We all know which of you is the brains of the operation anyway.”

With a cheeky wink at Mycroft, Kat closed her laptop with a click. Unhooking the cables she tucked it under her arm and with her assured stride stepped from the room, leaving with one last comment over her shoulder.

“I’ll wait ‘til you’re ready, but don’t think I’m doing it patiently.”

Just as she was about the leave the room, Mycroft softly added his own parting statement. Words spoken softly, but loud enough to reach her ears without difficulty as she walked away.

“Kat? There will always be room for you.” 

\------(000)-----

 

It was more luck than judgement that had Greg finding Molly as quickly as he did. If he was truly honest it was more a case of stumbling across her than any active searching on his part, in fact she saw him before he saw her. He had heard a door open as he passed but had paid no attention to it, not until he heard his name called and turned to see Molly smiling and heading towards him. He stopped to wait for her, the arms that had been clasped behind his back falling to his sides. His body language changed completely from his closed off stance to as warm and welcoming as was possible. It was impossible to be any other way with Molly around. She exuded love and comfort at all times and everyone was swept up in her presence. If Greg had expected Molly to stop at his side when she reached him, he was sorely mistaken. As soon as she reached him she wrapped him in a strong hug, squeezing him as much as her smaller body could. Instinctively he returned the embrace, startled to find that it was exactly what he needed. What his walking hadn’t been able to cure, a few seconds with Molly seemed to put everything in his mind in order.

“How you doing, Greg?”

Greg looked down at Molly and saw genuine concern on her face, not just for the situation but for his well being. She genuinely cared and while he would normally brush off a question like that, blurting out common platitudes pushing aside his own feelings to concentrate on whatever catastrophe was at hand. Instead he found himself voicing his actual fears and feelings.

“I’m worried, about everything and I’ve just moved Anthea to the top of the list of things to be worried about and I feel guilty that she wasn’t my main concern the whole time. She is mine to worry about and I neglected her. I didn’t see, I didn’t see how much strain she was under and it’s my job to see that.”

“Greg, walk with me. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Wrapping her arm through the crook of his Molly pulled him to a slow walk.

Molly had known Greg was in need of a little help himself. Mycroft had called her and said he was sending Greg in her direction, warning her that their Detective Inspector was in need of someone to talk to and a sympathetic ear. He hadn’t said exactly what, but there were only a few things that could have Greg teetering close enough to the edge that he needed help. This was something Molly could do and she was grateful for the advanced warning Mycroft gave her. He was obviously worried enough about Greg to call her and that was all the information she needed. After her conversation with Anthea, Molly had suspected that eventually Greg was going to need someone to talk to as well. He would normally speak to John but, well he wasn’t available.

So it had only been half coincidence that she’d found him when she did. She’d been leaving to look for him anyway but him being right outside as a sign. While everyone else’s role in the family leant towards investigation and threat elimination, Molly’s focus was far more home based. She thrived in her role of taking care of and monitoring their welfare. It was a role she took seriously and relished in.  
Guiding Greg in the direction of quarantine, Molly would use the time it took to get there to help Greg. He never wanted much fuss being focussed on him, but he wouldn’t argue at a little bit of fussing if it was done while they were on the move, at least not under the current situation.

“You can’t hope to see everything that’s happening Greg. Anthea hides her feelings at times like this.”

“Not usually from me.”

“This is completely different, none of us has had to deal with anything like this before so we’re learning as we go.”

“But I should have seen it, Molly.”

“When, Greg? When were you supposed to see it? When you were running around at the warehouse? When Anthea was in meetings with Mycroft and everyone else? When you were both walking Zombies, so tired you didn’t know your own names? Exactly when amongst all that were you supposed to see it?”

Molly hadn’t raised her voice but it had grown stern, what Greg and the others called her Mum voice. It was usually a tone reserved for Sherlock. Molly was unfailingly patient with him but even she occasionally had enough of his dramatics and out came the Mum voice to put him in his place. Greg knew that tone meant she wasn’t going to listen to his self depreciative and pitying words. She was putting him straight and accepting no arguments. Whatever Molly had to say, went. Greg would do well to remember that.

“It’s not really the point though, Mols.”

“You know it now, so we watch and wait and do what we can. We don’t have anyone to blame but Hunter Emmerson. Direct your anger at him Greg, not yourself. Mycroft and Anthea have what’s happening out there covered. Me and you? We’ve got to worry about this in here and we can’t do that if we’re too stuck on feeling sorry for ourselves and being angry at things we can’t do anything about. That is their world and we’ve done what we could inside their world but we’ve got to let them take it from here and not feel bad about it. We’re not used to being idle, I understand how you’re feeling because I’m feeling it too, but you have to see just because you’re not on the front line doesn’t mean you aren’t doing anything. You know they couldn’t be productive if they weren’t sure we were taking care of everything here.”

Greg had stopped walking and was just staring at Molly. How was it she managed to see right to the heart of everything? She pinpointed the fears he had and managed to completely discredit them. He supposed that was that, crisis averted by Molly’s iron will.

“Molly…”

Greg scrubbed his free hand across his face roughly.

“Just… well… thank you. For understanding, for everything.”

“You’re welcome. Now we’ve got that sorted, we’ve got stuff to do. Care to escort me to quarantine, good sir?”

Greg looked around him. After all his walking he was finally starting to get a handle on navigating the place. He did hope that they wouldn’t have to be here much longer but as long as they did he might not have to wander around like a lost sheep.

“Seeing as that’s where you’ve been leading me the whole time? I don’t think that will be a problem.” 

When Molly and Greg arrived at the quarantine suite she pushed Greg towards the preparation area.

“Greg, you go ahead. I need to speak with the doctors and find out what’s going on.”

A look of relief crossed Greg’s face, Molly would find out and actually understand what had happened and what it meant in the long run. He had Anthea’s emotional response to the situation, but knowing exactly how Sherlock was doing would take away the unknown, hopefully lowering the fear levels to a manageable point.

“Thanks, Molly. See you soon?”

“As soon as I'm done with the primary doctor, I’ll come and join you all.”

With a nod and a sign, Greg turned away. He wasn't looking forwards to this, but as he’d told Anthea they couldn't stay away, avoiding it wouldn't make everything better. With a shake of his shoulders to prepare himself he moved on leaving Molly to do what she needed to. Greg hoped that when she came back she would be able to explain things to him.

 

\-----(000)-----

 

Molly was itching to find Sherlock’s doctor, it had been too long since she’d received any kind of comprehensive update from a purely medical and non emotive perspective. Emotions were one thing and something Molly revelled in, but she needed facts and the only place she was going to get those right now was from the medical teams.

After making enquiries with several nurses, Molly was pointed towards the location she would find the doctor she sought. Walking through to the unit’s break room, Molly thought about the questions she needed answering. Through the glass panel in the door Molly could see that the lights had been dimmed and normally Molly would hesitate to intrude but the situation called for out of the ordinary actions. What greeted her when she walked quietly through the door was a scene she was all too familiar with. After years of working in hospitals Molly was used to finding over worked doctors days into a shift sleeping wherever and whenever they got the chance. Clearing her throat Molly waited and as she had known she didn't have to wait long for the doctor to wake up. He opened his eyes and they were instantly alert as they searched the room for what had woken him. When he saw her he got to his feet and flicked on the light switch bringing the room from dim glow to a brightness that made him narrow his eyes.

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so, I understand there was an incident earlier with Sherlock Holmes that scared the hell out of the woman who was with him at the time. I'm hoping you can provide details and a status report about where he is right now.”

“I'm sorry I don't believe we've been introduced properly. I'm Dr Miller.”

He held out his hand and Molly took it congenially.

“Dr Molly Hooper, nice to meet you. I understand you are the lead physician on Sherlock’s case?”

Molly watched a gamut of things cross the doctors face, a hint of recognition as well as surprise.

“The pathologist, yes I’m sorry, I've heard about you obviously. We couldn't have formulated a plan of action or been aware of expected progressions without your work, thank you.”

“No problem, trust me I definitely have a vested interest in this case. Can you tell me where we’re at generally?”

Dr Miller gestured to a chair opposite the one he had been occupying and Molly sat on the edge of it, leaning forwards expectantly. Sherlock’s doctor resumed his seat and pulled a clip board from the table. Molly could recognise the leaves of paper it contained were test results but beyond that the words were too small for her make out.

“We’ve been drawing blood frequently as I am sure you are aware, more often than would normally be the case but we are making sure to replace all that we take now we have him on a series of drips. Given the advanced timescale of the condition we believed it wise to monitor as frequently as possible without causing the patient any extra issues. We've seen a deceleration in virus cell replication, it has not yet plateaued but we are hoping to see that with the next few draws. With the expected time frame you supplied and the manner in which he is progressing through the hours, I would perhaps cautiously say, that he should make it through, but you understand I can't confirm that? There are still many things that could throw us for a loop. All previous known cases of this virus have resulted in death, it would be remiss of us to forget though that no matter our intervention and current patient status that it could all go horrendously wrong in a moment.” 

Molly did understand, the fact that he was willing to say there may be hope, even if that hope may be false was almost encouraging. That he was willing to even mention it to a fellow medical professional was almost a positive sign, even if there was still the chance that despite all their care Sherlock might still not make it. Molly did realise though that as soon as he spoke so candidly with her that he didn't actually know her connection to Sherlock. He wouldn't have said all that he had if he’d known, Molly was sure of it. Molly decided not to inform him, he would speak more and provide fuller details if he didn't know right now, she knew though that she would have to come clean eventually but right now it worked in her favour to keep it to herself.

“Understood, can you tell me his current status? I understand the episode earlier was quite distressing but I need to know just how bad it was.”

“It is better than expected, the cocktail of drugs we are giving him seems to be helping. Though with the treatment of this being unknown, in truth that could be more luck than anything else. We should be able to avoid intubation if he continues as he is and I see no signs that he won't at the moment.”

“I understood there was some sign of blood being expectorated during the last bout of uncontrolled coughing?”

“A small amount yes. We are monitoring that but it doesn't seem to match the levels associated with the virus having unduly damaged his lungs. We have scheduled scans to make sure but I'm not overly concerned at this point, it was a limited amount and appears to have been a singular event. Blood hasn't been evident since though there have been smaller coughing incidents. We've put him on oxygen to keep the levels in his blood regular and give him some help, he’s pinking up nicely with the blueness of the lips receding well. We’ll leave him on that for as long as is needed if it continues to prove advantageous. Intubation is always an option however if he deteriorates.”

Molly listened intently to everything the doctor said. Absorbing all the details so she could form as accurate picture as possible, preparing what she could tell the others. She would be the person they listened to and trusted to tell them what they needed and be able to answer any of the questions they had. Molly had to make sure she had the information for anything they wanted to know.

“I understand he suffered a Subconjunctival haemorrhage in his left eye? I believe it to be a side effect of the coughing, but would like to hear you confirm it if possible.”

Dr Miller looked at Molly strangely again and she realised it was probably because that was something that very few people knew. It wasn’t serious enough to have been highlighted as an issue and as far as he knew there had been limited contact within the quarantine area itself.

“Indeed, it doesn't appear to be adversely related to the virus itself and was not noted in any of the known cases so you are correct. As alarming as it may appear it is not something we are overly concerned about.”

He glanced at his watch and stood from his seat. Molly guessed this was the end of her allotted time. She stood as well, not oblivious to the man’s prompting.

“Sorry Doctor, just one more thing, if you wouldn't mind?”

“Of course.”

“From this point, I am to be the first point of contact with all updates regarding Sherlock Holmes’ condition.”

“Dr Hooper, with all due respect, I'm sorry that will not be possible.”

Molly had expected that and knew she wouldn't have had a problem anywhere else within the bunker. She couldn't be angry at the doctors refusal he was after all only doing his job and he had no reason to know who she was. Molly hadn't realised how much she was starting to take her position here for granted but it had been so easy to just accept that due to her connection to Mycroft she was afforded greater luxury than her position usually would. He eyed her warily, still not sure what his responses should be.

“I understand your position but it is imperative I am contacted should there be any change. I do not care what time it is, I am to be contacted no matter how small an incident or update.”

“As per our previous orders, only Mr Holmes, next of kin to the patient is to be updated. As I am sure you are aware, those are the only instructions we shall be following. Mr Holmes...”

Molly interrupted him before he could continue any further. This was where she would pay for her deception in not introducing herself in an adequate manner.

“Mr Holmes will authorise any and all changes I request.”

She was relatively sure he would at least, but Molly was determined once she’d made up her mind.

“I'm sure you appreciate Doctor, that Mr Holmes is a busy man and unless we are providing information regarding his brother we are not to disturb him unnecessarily. Now if you don't mind, I have a patient that requires my attention.”

She knew there was no other option, she held up one finger in silent request for him to wait and then pointed to the phone on the wall.

“Allow me two minutes and I will have the confirmation you require, direct from Mr Holmes failing that from his second in command. If you would excuse me?”

 

Molly wanted to go on, wanted to make him see that this was the answer. He had seen the effect Sherlock’s coughing had had on Anthea, but she didn't know how much of the situation he was entitled to know and she wouldn't be the one to give him information he had no need to know and wasn't entitled to. Molly just wanted to spare Anthea and Mycroft as much as she could, they had enough on their plates without the added stress of details that wouldn't help anyone progress the situation. She could see the scepticism on his face but he allowed her this concession and stepped backwards slightly, giving her space. Molly picked up the handset, dialling Mycroft's number from memory, she waited while it rang and was not left waiting long. When he answered his voice was stern with his greeting, his whole tone asking why he was being bothered.

“Mycroft Holmes.”

“My, it’s me. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Molly? Where are you? I do not know this number.”

“One second, My.”

She turned back to the doctor covering the mouthpiece of the phone loosely with her hand.

“Could you give me a minute please?” 

It appeared he had heard at least a male voice on the phone and listened to her refer to Mycroft as My. With raised eyebrows he removed himself from the room, not going far as Molly could still see him on the other side of the door through the glass panel.

\-----(000)-----

 

Alone in the conference room after Kat had left, Mycroft took a seat in her vacated chair. The abstract had become blindingly real, he couldn't deny it if he wanted to and he needed a moment to let that sink in completely, in private. He needed a little time to come to terms with the fact that he was mounting a search for a man who had been one of his closest friends, with the express intention of ending his life. It wasn't an action foreign to him but it being someone he had previously held in such high esteem was new. Despite what others may think of him, the decision to end a life was never one he took lightly, sometimes however it was an easier decision than others. It shook his belief somewhat, Hunter had been the yardstick he had measured others by for a long time, must he now question his decisions over the years? Mycroft refused to allow doubt to creep into his mind. Allowing the chair to tilt back slightly he struck a pose so very like his brother, steepling his fingers against his lips as he thought. The information he had now did not change how he had viewed everything since. The man he had known was a worthy man, though he was no longer changed little, they were two people as different as night and day and Mycroft would hold them as such in his mind.  
Mycroft relished in the silence and clarity the moments alone had brought. The only thing it couldn't help with was Sherlock. He needed to see him and didn't want to see him at the same time. Scared, Mycroft Holmes was scared. He knew what the doctors told him, but it had been several hours since he had looked on him with his own eyes. The pain he felt in his chest was gnawing at him. He had displayed his weakness for all to see and could only hope it didn't have adverse effects upon his position, Mycroft was not oblivious to the fact that he was constantly on show here. He was used to a certain amount of pageantry at times but as he normally worked with a smaller core group and the current situation was uncomfortable, he wanted this finished, concluded so that they could return to their lives as swiftly as possible. Regardless of that his main concern was the pure helplessness he felt seeing Sherlock as he was. He was being a coward and he knew it but self preservation made him selfish, that could be the only reason behind his actions as far as he was concerned. Perhaps time on his own was not as positive as he had assumed, in the dim and silent room his thoughts were given free reign and when not governed by the distraction of immediate threat to focus on they started to act against him.  
When his phone rang displaying a number from inside the compound, but not one he knew, Mycroft was immediately on alert. On answering he was surprised and mildly concerned to hear Molly’s voice.

“Molly? Where are you? Has something happened?”

“My. No I'm fine. I just need you to do something for me. I know you’re busy, it won't take long.”

\-----(000)------

 

Molly knew she was rushing out her words, she wanted to firmly make her case before Mycroft could provide reasons for things to remain as they were.

“I want you to make me the primary contact for Sherlock’s care. Make the doctors speak to me first. You're busy, I know you’ll never be too busy for Sherlock and that isn't what I mean. You and Anthea have so much to do still, John’s not quite with us and I don't have anything to do. I can be here and available all the time, you know I'll make the best decisions I can. I can be useful here, My, please tell the doctors I have the power to make decisions."

“Molly. Molly, slow down, do not distress yourself further. You have it, without question and without reservation. I will have my authorisation passed to them immediately, you are to be the first port of call for any and all decisions regarding Sherlock’s treatment and care. I trust you Molly, with all that I have and all that I am, I know you will always make the right decision.”

Mycroft heard Molly release a deep breath and he could imagine the sight of her, fluttery and nervous, the way she go  
t when she wanted to ask something, but wasn't sure how he he’d answer. Not that he had a tendency to deny her, that wasn't because he couldn't say no to her, more she thought everything through so thoroughly before asking. She formed a complete and level argument before asking, he never wanted to humour her, she was up his equal and he would always treat her as such.

“My, I promise I'll do my very best here.”

“I know, my dearest. I could expect no less from such a strong and determined woman. How is Sherlock?”

“He’s doing ok, My. I've had a good talk with the head doctor. He doesn't know me as anything but a pathologist involved with identifying the virus so he spoke more   
freely that he would normally with family. He is at least cautiously optimistic. He seems like he isn't the most positive of people, but maybe he’s just tired. I feel happier now that I've talked to him. The virus’ replication has slowed down, it's not stopped yet but it’s getting there. He’s not on a ventilator and it was predicted he would be by now, he’s still breathing on his own with a little bit of oxygen. It's not pretty but he’s doing it.”

Mycroft didn't know why hearing the news from Molly made him believe it more in his heart, but he did. He knew Molly would tell him what he needed to know and not just in a clinical manner that left him cold. With a tapping foot Mycroft rocked the seat he sat in, a slow roll back and forth.

“Thank you, Molly. That eases me.”

“That’s all I want to do. I just want to lighten your load where I can.”

“With everything you do, I am eased. I will send word to the medical team.”

“If you have a minute, he’s outside the door. Can you speak to him? It’ll be quick.”

“I did not realise you were still with him. Fetch him, I shall conclude our business.”

Molly looked around but there was nowhere for her to rest the handset, so she had to settle for leaving it hanging against the wall. Hurrying across the room she threw the door open and motioned for the doctor to re-enter the room with haste.

“The phone for you, Doctor. Please, it will clear everything up.”

Molly watched him approach the phone but stood a little back and crossed her arms across her chest and waited.

Mycroft waited somewhat impatiently for the line to be picked up. He heard Molly's footsteps tapping across a hard surface and the sound of a door being opened, her speech was a little muffled but he heard her calling and then two sets of footsteps moving back into the room, getting louder as they approached until he heard Molly's lighter step stop, leaving only the heavier footsteps to continue. When Mycroft heard rustling as the phone was lifted he didn't wait for the man to speak.

“Dr Miller, I assume you recognise my voice, consider this convention your authorisation for Dr Hooper to become your point of contact from this point forwards. As next of kin, Molly Hooper has the power to make any decision she deems fit regarding Sherlock Holmes’ care and her judgement is not to be questioned. Do I make myself understood?”

Again Mycroft didn't wait for the man to speak, this wasn't a discussion, this was him making his wishes known and that was all. He knew it was enough that he had spoken and solidified Molly’s position. While he had said it outright he had inferred enough for the doctor to understand she was within the central circle and by using her first name he had elevated Molly and removed the impersonal title of doctor, saying just enough to make sure he was understood.

“If you would return the phone to Molly please.”

Molly watched as the doctor paled, she couldn't hear what Mycroft said, she only hoped he wasn’t being too harsh. Dr Miller was a good doctor; his care of Sherlock had been exemplary. Molly chewed at her fingernail as she waited. She did feel guilty that she was using Mycroft’s power, but without him she didn't have any here and she desperately needed some. When he turned to her, his eyes were wide and he wordlessly held the handset in front of him for her to take. A little sheepishly Molly plucked the phone from his outstretched hand, giving him an apologetic look Molly raised the phone to her ear.

“My?”

“You should encounter no further issues from this point onwards. However, if you do, do not hesitate to call me. Should you be unable to reach me, call Anthea and she will rectify any problems.”

Molly didn't particularly feel like she could speak as freely as she would not all with the other doctor in the oil. She didn't want him to know any more about their relationship than he was likely imagining on his own. Tough she doubted Mycroft had expressly labelled their relationship to the other man she sulked there were only so many connections a person could have that would allow direct and immediate access to a man like Mycroft, especially when that access was used in such a manner as she just had. Because of her discomfort Molly was quiet when she responded, ever mindful that she wasn’t alone and trying not to be over heard. Glancing over her shoulder Molly did she that he had at least retreated to a respectable distance.

“Thank you, My. Will I see you later?”

“Later yes, I will find you as soon as I am able.”

“Good. Until later then?”

“Of course, my dear.”

When Molly hung up, Mycroft stayed as he was and allowed himself another few minutes of solitude. He wouldn't be able to justify his absence much longer, even though there was no person who would question his actions, save himself.

 

When Molly faced Dr Miller again, they both spoke at once.

“I'm sorry.”

“Dr Hooper, I apologise.”

Molly laughed a little nervously, she loathed uncomfortable situations like this. Usually she avoided them at all costs, she didn't think she could avoid this one though and it made her skin antsy with embarrassment.

“Please Dr Hooper, let me finish?”

Molly nodded, she was more than happy to let him speak, it gave her chance to fight down the nervous energy that would have her babbling and she didn't want that.

“I meant no offence, please understand I was unaware of your position and acting under my instructions. Had I known I would not have been dismissive and reluctant to comply with your wishes.”

Molly took a slight step forwards, all at once her guilt surged again. Having someone grovel to her quite like this went against everything Molly was, it was almost painful. It was definitely something she would never get used to and never wanted to.

“No Doctor, I'm sorry. There must have been another way to make my point without going about it the way I just did. Believe me, if I'd known another way I'd have used it. I should not have necessarily concealed my relationship to the patient, but I needed the truth. Shall we forget about it and move on? We won’t have the time to make things difficult between us. We need to work closely together and at the end of the day nothing except Sherlock matters. He is the focus of both of our attentions and we are on the same team.”

When he walked forwards his hand extended, a handshake to seal the deal, Molly took it the matter was solved and allowed herself to relax slightly.

“Then we work together Dr Hooper.”

“Call me, Molly. I'm going to need you to be frank, if I'm making decisions I need all the information you have and your opinions are extremely valuable to me, I'm not here to fight you. I don't care how distressing you think something might be, I still need to know. All I ask is that you let me be the one to speak to Dr Watson, I'll be the go between your medical team and my family. I won't interfere where I know that you know best, that’s not why I’m here. Can you work with that?”

“I believe we have come to an agreement, Molly. Please call me Mark, it seems childish not to really.”

Molly smiled, a true smile. She had an ally, not something to be taken lightly she was sure. Things might just be OK after all.


	27. Change is going to come.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I always struggle with this bit, I mean anything I add might spoil it and it's a direct continuation from the next so I don't generally add anything. If you've got to this chapter you probably know what's happening, I think it's unlikely you've jumped in to this story at this point. Still a couple of chapters to go but we're getting close to the end, can I say how many chapters? Well no not really, I'm kind of seeing where it takes me so it could be 5 it could be 10, who knows? Not me and I rather like that. This is as much of a journey and surprise to me as it is to you. Anyway I'll let you go with one last thing. Thank you for reading, for commenting for showing an interest you've been absolutely amazing. 
> 
> MyCitrusPocket as always gets my heartfelt thanks for her amazing and ever patient work, I can't say it enough really. My closest friend and confidant who I just happened to meet because we write fanfiction, who would have thought stories could have such an impact.

Mycroft had called Anthea, telling her to bring her things and meet him in a private conference room, as it was a good enough place as any for them to at least try and plan the impossible. She knocked briefly on the closed door, only a gesture really as she essentially just walked straight in, not waiting for his reply. Mycroft was ensconced at the table, sitting almost in darkness with only the up-lighters around the edges if the room lit, casting cones of light up the walls and pooling on the ceiling, but doing little to brighten the core of the room. Kicking the door shut behind her, Anthea flicked the switch to put on the main light above the table.

“OK, I’m here. I hope you’ve got at least an idea how we’re going to pull this off.”

“Hello to you too, Anthea.”

Placing her computer bag on the table and choosing not to acknowledge Mycroft’s sass, Anthea picked the seat opposite Mycroft, watching as his eyes scrunched up and face wincing in shock as he acclimatised to harsh brightness. Anthea took the seat directly opposite Mycroft, if nothing else would at least save their necks if they could look directly at each other while they planned, especially given as these things had been known to carry on for hours and anything that saved them pain was worth it as far as she was concerned. This time though she would do her best to get this concluded as quickly as possible.

Kicking off her shoes, Anthea tucked one foot underneath her as she settled into the chair. Once she was comfy she took a moment to look at Mycroft properly as he sat in the stereotypical Holmesian thinking pose, so very serious and dramatic.

“So have you? Yoo hoo, Mycroft Holmes, master of all you survey. Got any plans?”

With an eye roll at Anthea waving her arms in his face across the table, Mycroft dropped his hands from their pose and leant forwards to rest his arms on the table and give Anthea his full attention as she demanded. 

“Many, Anthea. Far too many and which, if any of them will work, is going to take some discussion. Hence your presence.”

She mirrored his pose across the table top. Meetings like this were not unheard of for them, so they knew where to start at least. Pulling out a pad and pen, Anthea got ready. They may have all the technology they could want at their fingertips but there was nothing quite like going old school every now and then. Planning meant notes and it was easier to cross something out and carry on than to go back and erase something and start again, it was also much easier to destroy them afterwards than having to go through the rigmarole of having drives wiped, all she needed to do was burn them. Which, so long as she was careful and had decent ventilation, could be done anywhere and at any time, at least that was her story and she was sticking to it. It was also entirely possible that she just really liked to actually write things down every once in a while. Anthea knew Mycroft was watching her intently but it didn’t make her falter in the slightest, she just made sure she was comfortable and waited him out; even if she did fidget in her seat a little too frequently for her actions to be misconstrued as patience.  
She hadn’t been sitting idle while he was busy, she’d been thinking and weighing ideas to run by Mycroft as soon as they got together. Generally doing the things she did best.

“Seeing as you are unable to sit still, Anthea. I am assuming you have something you wish to express?”

“Well, I made a few calls, unofficially of course, to a few of my contacts. Don’t look at me like that. You’re not the only one who knows people.”

“Of which I am aware, what news has you positively dancing in your chair?”

“The chance of us going in officially? None. Unofficially we can go and we won’t be stopped, but you will need to make a couple of calls to finalise it. It seems the best way to get everyone in; I’m assuming we’re sending everyone that is?”

Mycroft nodded once, as ever he was proud of how thorough Anthea was in her work.

“Well, I thought about boats and that’s a no go. We’d never get through the coastal watch systems and fixed land radars. Land borders are pretty easy to get passed but Bolivia and Peru are more difficult to get into in the first place and we’ve got more friends in Chile anyway. It’s going to have to be by plane, but we can’t send them all at once.”

Once she’d got that off her chest, Anthea sat back in the chair and waited. She knew she’d put forwards her findings and just had to allow Mycroft a moment before he would come back to her after processing her words.

“I believe you are correct. Aeroplanes seem to be the logical choice. We shall have to stagger their arrivals and make sure they are furnished with new travel documents. They should each have a suitable set of identification documents, however I will need you to check and procure them for any who do not have them available and require the credentials. There will be no way to convince Kat to wait as long as we would like. She will have to be one of the first to arrive, though we shall not however be sending her alone. No matter what arguments she may make, I want Max to be on the same plane. In fact, get them identifications marking them as husband and wife, that way there would be less suspicion. If we can’t get Kendo on the same plane as them, he needs to be on the next departure. Between the two of them they should be able to moderate Kat slightly and stop her rushing headlong into the unknown.”

Throughout Mycroft's monologue of plans Anthea wrote, nodding as she paid close attention to his instructions, noting and underlining the questions that formed along the way.

“We sending them commercial?”

“Hmm? Sorry yes. Anything else may arouse suspicion should transport be being monitored. Sending Kat at all is in itself problematic, should her face be known. Should Hunter have a longer reach than we can anticipate, he may have set instructions to be on the lookout for her arrival, though I see no way of avoiding it. We will simply have to make sure she is guarded and as invulnerable as possible at all times. Having the team arrive with as little fanfare as we are able should aid that to a certain degree.”

“What are we going to do about arming them. There is no way we can get them on the planes with the weapons they are going to need, not even for us. Especially not if we don't want to make a fuss.”

“I shall be discussing that with Vincente, there are options available to us and I have a plan similar to one I have used in the past, however I need to confirm with him and discuss its viability.”

As they talked through the details, things were taking shape in an almost pleasing way, everything starting to coalesce in their heads. After all this was something they had done before, many times. Perhaps not on this scale, but it was at least familiar ground.

“What’s the time scale on this, Mycroft? How much time have I got?”

“We can probably delay Kat a day or two at the most. Seeing as at this stage all we can do is get the team into the country, having only a few days should not prove such an issue. Once we receive more details we can address and act accordingly in response. Due to her contrary nature, should I attempt to hold Kat until we have a more complete pictures formed she will act unwisely, for the sake of international relations I would like to avoid that.”

At that point Anthea sighed, puffing out her cheeks she looked up at Mycroft. He looked back at her and broke his litany, allowing the interruption he saw on her face.

“That’s where we hit the first of the problems and you know there are going to be lots of them to keep us busy. We don’t even know where he is yet.”

“At least we shall be prepared to move when finally we hold that information.”

“No, I get that. How can I plan all this if I can’t be more specific than Chile? Where do you want me do send them? I mean Santiago is pretty central. Big city, easy to hide them disguised as tourists, it would offer more anonymity. I can arrange ID’s and flights no problem. Accommodation though, I need to know how you want me to set them up wherever we send them. Do you want them all in one place or spread out to avoid suspicion?”

It took Mycroft a moment to weigh the options and Anthea could see him working things over in his head. There would be advantages and disadvantages to every option they took, it would be a balancing act to try and offset each with their choices, knowing the whole time that they would never be able to balance it completely. Anthea just hoped they got the big decisions right. She saw the moment Mycroft made his decision before he started to speak again.

“Close together, not in the same building but nearby. Some of them in apartments or hotels in both pairs and individually. Apartments would be preferable for privacy, even if hotels do provide a certain anonymity, there are too many variables to take in to account with regards to security. We will also require a house, large, multiple access points to allow for comings and goings without drawing attention, not too isolated though similarly excess use of usually quiet roads would garner as much notice as a location within a community. The location must be suitable for use as a base from which we can communicate with them and plan further actions.”

Mycroft looked on as Anthea noted each of his stipulations, leaning forwards slightly to afford himself a better view of the paper.

“Are you yourself even able to read that chicken scratch at a later date?”  
She didn't look up from her task when Mycroft deviated from the task at hand. She’d seen him lean forwards in her peripheral vision, but there was no reason to stop what she was doing to see what he was up to.

“You talk like I've never had to decipher your hasty attempts at writing before. You know damn well I can read it.”

She looked back at the page, her head jerking slightly to one side and twitching slightly as she did so.

“Mostly at least, if not I can always guess so long as I can read what it says around it.”

Anthea was grinning when she looked up, completely unrepentant. Resting her chin on her palm she looked at him, all the while tapping the pen in her hand against her chin.

“So we’ve got an almost plan and I've got stuff to get on with while we wait for more details that will help us narrow down his whereabouts. I’ll get started on it all straight away, no worries. Fingers crossed, regardless of how far we’ve got locating “The Cannibal” I should be able to start getting everyone into the country in line with your schedule. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

Anthea made even more chaotic notes, underlining some sections repeatedly. Her system quite baffling at the best of time and something Mycroft had long ago decided was a lost cause, even for his mind, to try and understand.

“So seeing as I've got this, what are you going to do?”

Anthea dropped her pen on the pad, no strike that, thought Mycroft as he patted his jacket, his pen. Anthea pinned him with an expectant gaze.

“I do regret the days I spent teaching you to pick pockets. Will you be returning that at some point?”

Picking up her prize, Anthea twirled it quickly through her fingers, watching as the light glinted over the shiny gold surface.

“Chances are slim, it will fit in nicely with my collection.”

“My collection, rather.”

“Mine now, if I take it without you knowing, I get to keep it.”

“I do not recall agreeing to such terms.”

“You might not have even been there when it was agreed. I assure you, you did though, quite quickly too. I thought I'd have to fight my case but you were surprisingly cooperative. So now we've talked about all of that, are we going to discuss the elephant in the room?”

Mycroft was confused for a moment, he ran through everything they had discussed and tried to tally it with everything he had planned for them to cover. He couldn't for the life of him imagine what they could possibly have missed.

“I'll put you out of your misery shall I? Have you been to see Sherlock?”

“I am fully apprised of his condition.”

Anthea winced inwardly, the omission of information didn't sit well with her at all. She didn't keep things from Mycroft, for their relationship to work like it did meant she couldn't. She knew it was important that all information was shared, trust was important and she felt like she was letting that down slightly, until this very unique situation that was. Anthea was resolute in her decision though, bolstered by her discussion with Molly, so she tamped it down quickly.

“I don't doubt you do. Not what I said though, is it? Don't you think it's about time you go and see him?”

With her arms crossed on the table and her chin resting on her forearm, Anthea would not let him escape her stare. Though her face was neutral, Mycroft felt the push of her words.

“I wish to, but there is too much that demands my attention.”

“Time, Mycroft, might not be something he has. I know you, you know exactly how much time has passed and how much is left.”  
Mycroft bristled, more at the how the astute words struck him and caused his displeasure to spike. Anthea was correct, Mycroft knew exactly how much sand was left in the glass.

“Don't go getting all prickly, you know I don't say anything to hurt you. I just don't want you to do something now and regret it. So why haven't you been?”

“You are aware of everything that has been occurring around us, are you not?”

Anthea’s voice was flat and emotionless when she responded, its tone as neutral as it could possibly have been. 

“You know what? I thought something was going on.”

“I apologise, Anthea. I do not mean to direct my displeasure towards you.”

Mycroft had the grace to look truly apologetic and Anthea didn't doubt for a moment that it was absolutely sincere.

“No worries. So you going to go now?”

“Do you believe now is the time?”

Mycroft’s answer could have been one dripping with condescension, but it wasn't and the difference was subtle. His words and tone the same, the only discernible difference came only with the knowledge of Mycroft as a man not just as a person of power. He doubted his decisions and was looking for reassurance, he was asking her opinion and inviting Anthea to share.

“I think now is a good time, yes.”

“Though as we have just discussed there is much to do.”

Mycroft was wavering even as Anthea shook her head, she didn't raise it from her arms as she did so and it pushed and pulled the skin on her face in a comical   
fashion.

“Mycroft, I am extension of you, I can be where you can't. Basically meaning you get to be in two places at once. So you can go be with Sherlock and everything will still get done.”

“I have asked much of you throughout this, Anthea.”

“Not any more than I'm willing to give and able to do. Let me work for us, it won't take too long and then I can come and join you all. I know the others are all there already. Go, Mycroft. Stop putting it off. Is it John you are worried about?”

Mycroft didn't speak, no confirmation passing his lips, but then neither did a denial. He just waited to see what Anthea had to say.

“Go, the problems you are imagining? They are in your head. Think, what do you know about John? He’s a good man with a big heart. You know he will be kind, so go, no more waiting!”

Mycroft allowed the words to sink in and waited for the arguments to start rearing in his mind. He was extremely surprised when they didn't, his brain provided no fight to the words she spoke.

“Once we have concluded this Anthea, remind me you deserve a holiday.”

“By the time this is done? We’ll all need one. Somewhere quiet and peaceful where we’ll all go mad within days.”

“I would prefer to believe we could manage peaceful for a short while at least.”

“You have met us yeah? It would be a very short time, but we will plan something even if it’s just dinner when everyone's well and we’re not planning on sending an invading force into another country. Now off you go, no more delaying tactics or procrastination. You know where I'll be if you need anything.”

Standing from her chair, Anthea left all her belongings where they lay and practically marched around the table until she stood at Mycroft's side and looked down at him. She began to tap her foot when he didn't immediately make a move to stand, only tilting his head to look up at her with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Mycroft, don't for one moment think I won't take advantage of the wheels on that chair and push you all the way there if you don't move now. Don't dare me to make a scene.”

Faced with Anthea’s promise of action, he placed a hand on each arm of the chair and rose to his feet, with a small bow to her he spun on the balls of his feet and flinging open the door disappeared from Anthea's sight.

\-----(000)-----

Kat wandered around her quarters, sorting through her meagre belongings. She hadn’t brought anything with her on the helicopter, there hadn’t been time to head back and grab her things before leaping on board and flying off on the first part of her journey, so she'd left with what she had on her back. Not that there had been much to leave, such was the nature of her life. A duffle bag full of clothes and she carried the rest of her life in her pockets. She always had the few things she cared most about on her person, tucked away and safe, never at risk of being forgotten. The other things had been easy enough to replace with a phone call, having someone collect a back up “go bag” from one of her stashes and deliver it to her at the facility. She’d have to find another location to store her emergency supplies now that one of her many was compromised, but it was a small price to pay to have her own things again. Her packs all contained the same items, the things she deemed necessary no matter where she was. The first thing she’d extricated from the bag had been her MP3 player and dock. For someone who spent so much time on her own, Kat’s music was her constant friend. It might not have been completely up to date but it had her favourites and would fill the emptiness in the room. The music also helped to cancel out the buzzing in her ears. It wasn’t always there but sometimes she needed to drown it out before it drove her mad. Kat knows it’s the result of too many years in close proximity to explosions and gunfire but it’s not as bad as it could be and it doesn’t stop her from doing her job. Even when it does get too noisy all she has to do, even though it makes her look slightly insane, is bang the palm of her hand against her ear and it helps. 

Kat had plugged in the dock and placed it on the bedside table, sliding the player on to the base she waited for it to charge enough to switch it on. When the screen finally lit up she carefully selected an old faithful playlist she’d made and played it on low in respect of the fact that she had the door to the corridor open. She wasn’t the biggest fan of feeling closed in and without windows, this was the best she could do under the circumstances. Singing along under her breath, Kat carried on where she’d left off. When she picked up the shirt she’d discarded earlier and it billowed dust and sand all over the floor, Kat knew she really needed to do some washing and get the dust out of her clothes, until she managed to get those clean and found time to get another shower to scrub the grainy feeling out of her skin completely, she wouldn’t truly feel like she’d left the desert behind.

Max definitely felt more banged up now than he had been when they first got back. Sitting in the medical suite he’d had time to seize up and it wasn’t pretty. He wanted to groan with each step he took that moved his ribs; he always managed to forget just how much it hurt once he’d healed from the last time. At least they were only bruised this time and would be sorted in a few days. Wincing as he went, his progress was slow as he made his way to his room, preparing for the fight he was about to have in order to get in the shower and get himself to bed for a while after his pain pills kicked in. He held one arm across his front trying to hold his ribs together at the same time as trying not to pull at the stitches they’d put in his arm, despite his arguing that he didn’t need them and glowering the whole time they’d been stitching him back together. Max started to think they must have really given him the good pills when he started to hear music, his vision was still clear so it couldn’t be that bad yet.

When he got to an open door, Max thought he must be hallucinating. There was no way he was actually looking at what he thought he was. He was quite sure that perfect arse wrapped in tightly stretched khaki was a creation of the pain killers. It had to be, his brain had to be playing a trick on him, but he’d swear that it was right there bobbing in time to music as Kat bent down, collecting clothes from the floor. He was blinking rapidly, when she twisted at the waist to pick up another item of clothing and stopped as she caught sight of him. She stayed as she was, bent over but looking backwards at him.

“Enjoying the view, Max?”

“Not the painkillers?”

Kat straightened and dumping the bag on the bed turned around to face him. He stood bare chested in the doorway, holding his shirt limply in his hand. Kat shouldn't have been surprised by the sight of him, hell there’d been enough clues, but now he stood there all lithe muscles and tattoos stretching from his left collarbone across his chest and down his right arm to his elbow. She couldn't make out all the details but she could definitely recognise clocks and pocket watches etched into his skin. Kat found herself frustrated that half of the details were obscured from her view, covered by medical tape and gauze. At least he'd managed to get himself put back together. She could see a glazed look in his eyes that suggested he’d been given some rather strong meds by the doctors as well, that and he kept looking from the corridor then into her room with increasing confusion. When Max turned slightly to face into the room rather than being side on to it, Kat saw that he was holding his arm across his chest, signs of rib damage then. She stepped towards him slowly, watching him sway a little as he followed her movement.

“No, Max. Not the painkillers.”

“Hmm, thought it was. Pretty.”

He was distracted and although she wasn't a product of the medication, it looked as though they were definitely kicking in. Kat squeezed passed him in the doorway, to stand by his side in the corridor. To go with the patched up arm he was also sporting a rather impressive large purple and red bruise that was starting to bloom angrily over the lower left side of his rib cage. When she looked up and saw the vacant look in his eyes, she knew she'd lost him again. Reaching out and with at least a little bit of care, she poked at the bruise. The jolt and groan that followed may have served to snap Max back for a moment even as it caused her to wince for him.

“What did you do that for?”

Max clutched tighter at his ribs and glared at her.

“I needed you to focus. What did they give you?”

“Dunno but it was good, was working well thank you.”

The look he was giving Kat would make weaker people step away, but this was Kat, nothing made her step back.

“Max, before you stopped where were you going?”

“Hmmm?”

Kat tried not to lose her patience. The doctors really had managed to scramble his brains. That he was still standing, if not steadily was a credit to him.

“Bed. Going bed.”

When he half stumbled, half lurched into her room and headed towards the bed Kat caught his arm.

“Nope, sunshine, that's mine. God, don't you turn those puppy dog eyes on me.”

Kat didn't want to hurt him more and the only way she could see that would halting his progress would be to put force behind her hold on him, but that was a bit harsh even for her. When he paid no attention to her and kept going she had no option but to let him go. He was just muttering under his breath and not much of it made sense, just the odd word and a whimper, much like a small child. She knew when she was doing a losing battle so diving round him and thankful he was at least slow, Kat swiped both her arms over the bed and grabbed everything she'd dumped on it, getting it out of the way just in time for Max to collapse, landing with a groan and a snort. Kat just stood there looking down at him, arms filled with dirty clothes.

“Typical, I get a man in my bed for the first time in a depressingly long time and he’s out cold.”

The only response she got was a definite snore that shouldn't be endearing. Kat supposed that was that really, there'd be no moving him now. Seeing as she’d had no plans to sleep just yet it wouldn't do any harm to leave him there while she went about her tasks. Kat saw goose bumps rising on his tanned and inked skin, highlighting the numerous scars that crisscrossed his back. She dropped the clothes she held at her feet and grabbed an extra blanket from the sofa against the wall and shook it out. Flicking her arms she sent it flying and let it fall across his body, covering him from the chill of the room. She could have turned the heating up, but Kat knew from experience that these rooms could become stifling rather quickly. She'd knew she wasn't exactly quiet as she stuffed every bit of clothing that littered the floor into her bag so she could carry on as she had been, but if he heard any of it there was no sign. Leaving her iPod playing in the background and the light on the bedside table on, Kat switched off the main light and juggling the bag in her arms quietly closed the door behind her.

\-----(000)-----

It was false bravery that kept Mycroft’s feet moving. He was eager to see Sherlock, knowing he’d stayed away too long relying on other people’s word at his brother’s condition; he was not, however sure of the reception he would receive from John. Anthea had convinced him to trust in John’s very nature, he wouldn't turn Mycroft away. Given the circumstances though, should John object to his presence in any way, Mycroft would concede the defeat and leave as requested. John had been accepting of his presence in the canteen, but by Sherlock’s bedside it was different, between them would hang the memories of the last moments they had been together there and it was a painful memory. As he arrived he truly hoped for as positive outcome as possible but at least he was prepared for the alternative. His discomfort was far outweighed by his desire to see his brother.

John heard as the door opened and turned towards the sound. He saw Mycroft, awkward in his protective gown, hovering in the doorway. At the sight of him, John felt no anger and no resentment. How could he when he looked so vulnerable? John saw Molly and Greg stiffen on the other side of the bed from him. They had been talking softly between themselves, but when Mycroft entered they stopped, their eyes flickering between him and Mycroft quickly, hopeful, but not sure how this was going to play out. When John stood from his seat Mycroft flinched almost imperceptibly and John released Sherlock’s hand to step to the side freeing up the chair closest to Sherlock’s head. He beckoned to Mycroft, patting the now empty seat as he sat in the cold chair that had been sitting empty at his side.

“Come on, Mycroft. Sit, it's alright.”

When Mycroft moved towards him, John’s heart gave a bit of a jolt at just how much of Sherlock he saw in him. The same movements, the sheepish excitement and enthusiasm that the older brother usually kept tight rein on in comparison to Sherlock’s seeming inability to control his tendency to get overexcited, was clearly on display. John knew he didn’t have a monopoly on the pain, it was shared between them and he knew he had to accept that and offer the same support that was being given to him.

After John had acknowledged him, Mycroft was drawn forwards, his relief and trepidation equal in his mind. He was surprised that not only had John been as accepting of Mycroft as he had been in the canteen, even though this was most definitely his domain. He had vacated his seat to allow Mycroft to be closer to his brother, the man truly demonstrated such a deep capacity for understanding the Holmes brothers and forgiving their actions that it was staggering. Mycroft now focussed all of his attention on Sherlock, he’d had information passed to him of course. With each turn in his condition, each milestone he reached, each hours he became closer to the conclusion of his condition, Mycroft had been called with the details. He had not however been this close to his brother since he had begun to display symptoms and he had taken advantage of the few moments available before John had taken vigil at Sherlock’s side and that was such a long time ago in terms of Sherlock’s imposed timescale. Taking the seat offered, Mycroft perched himself on the edge of it.

“John are you certain I should take this seat? This should be your place.”

“Knock yourself out, I've been there for hours, I'm due a change.”

“John? I am sorry...”

“No Mycroft, that wasn’t a snarky comment, I’m not hiding anything behind my words. Don't look for a fight here, I'm not going to give you one because we don't have a reason to. Now shut up and sit with your brother.”

Mycroft lapsed into silence, his mouth opening and closing but no words escaping, John gave him a look that seemed to say “enough”. John really did have incredibly expressive eyes, Mycroft just wasn't used to that understanding expression being directed at him.  
Mycroft realised he had allowed the sight in front of him to become the monster under the bed and now he sat beside John looking at Sherlock, Mycroft wasn’t sure if what he’d imagined was worse than this or not. With Sherlock’s chest moving so horrifically it was hard for Mycroft to make sense of everything, but that didn’t matter now. Sliding his eyes to John, Mycroft hesitated as he reached towards Sherlock’s hand seeking his permission. He felt John’s hand pat his back gently and nudge him forwards and he reached the rest of the distance and took his brothers fingers in his.  
Seeing Sherlock look so vulnerable brought forth a stream of images in Mycroft’s mind. The memories of Sherlock as an adult quickly gave way to scenes from their youth. Memories Mycroft had buried deep in his mind. Sherlock’s impetuous and adventurous nature had landed him in danger many times. It had seemed that whenever Mycroft had taken his eyes off the hellion that was Sherlock, he’d managed to get himself injured. Sherlock’s quests for information, his need to answer the questions that filled his mind often came before everything else in his mind. His sense of self preservation had taken a back seat then and Mycroft supposed in some ways that nature was still there, even if adulthood had at least taught Sherlock to be aware of his safety. The situation had only improved with the arrival of the steadying presence of the man that now sat at Mycroft’s side, forgiving and offering more understanding towards Mycroft than he believed he deserved.

\-----(000)-----

 

Molly hadn’t realised she was holding her breath when Mycroft sank into the seat John offered and John rested his hand on Mycroft’s back. The relief she felt was instant, she’d had faith that it would be ok, but she had started to worry that the longer Mycroft stayed away from quarantine the more difficult it was going to be. Molly was unaware that she had made a grab for Greg’s hand as soon as Mycroft had appeared and that she was gripping it so incredibly tightly Greg was starting to fear for his circulation. In fact she didn’t realise she was doing it until Greg made a small strangled noise of pain at her side. Her head snapped to him and when he grimaced and looked down she followed his lead, gasping she released his hand as soon as she saw she’d made the tips of his fingers turn white.  
“Greg, I’m so sorry! Why didn’t you say anything? Are you ok?”  
“Don’t worry about it, Mol. I’m good. You’ve got a hell of a grip on you though.”

Molly blushed, the colour just reaching above the top of the facemask that obscured her features.

“Sorry, bit anxious, didn’t know how it was going to go. I feel a bit sick now.”

“I think it went better than anyone expected, just got to sit back and wait a bit now.”

Molly nodded sagely in agreement as her eyes moved from Greg to the others, her concern clear on her face.

“You’re right I know, sitting and waiting is about all we can do until Sherlock wakes up.”

Molly looked over the scene that played out opposite her, Sherlock was unconscious and oblivious to everything that was happening around him. John and Mycroft were reconnecting through their mutual concern over the man in the bed and she and Greg sat and supported with their silence. All they needed now was some good news and she hoped it would come soon. When she and Sherlock’s doctor had arrived together, he’d taken another blood sample, so far they hadn’t had any news regarding the results of the latest tests and Molly was acutely aware that they should be hearing about it soon. The longer it took the more concerned she got, there should have been at least some news by now. If they didn’t hear anything soon Molly would have to go and find someone who could tell her what was happening. Sometimes knowing as much as she did really didn’t help her state of mind.  
Mycroft was completely engrossed in his thoughts that when he felt the fingers grasped in his flex slightly, just for a moment, so briefly that he wondered if he had imagined it, he didn't know if he could trust it or not. 

“John, I believe Sherlock just moved. Though I may be mistaken.”

“It’s ok, he’s been doing that. He’s only asleep, they sedated him slightly. Enough to keep him relaxed, but he’s not in an induced coma or anything. He’s just being stubborn.”

There was no mistaking the warmth in John’s voice, he stroked his fingers up and down Sherlock’s calf as he spoke. The love he felt, broadcasting through the tone of his voice, the caress of his hand and the undeniable softness of his eyes. Mycroft’s attention was split between the two as John continued.

“I think he’s making the most of it, catching up on the sleep he always says he doesn’t need.”

Mycroft twisted slightly in his seat, still keeping Sherlock firmly in his view, but including John. Just that slight movement took him from keeping his back to John in an almost defensive pose to something more resembling their usual dynamic. Mycroft looked across the bed, almost surprised to see Molly and Greg sitting in silence as they tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. Molly merely nodded once, a look of reassurance in her eyes, he might not be able to see the lower portion of her face but he knew the smile he would see there if he could. 

Again Mycroft felt Sherlock’s fingers move, slight twitches that suggest a greater degree of wakefulness than even just moments ago. Every one of them watched Sherlock intently, waiting for further signs that he was coming back to them. It was with companionable silence that they sat and waiting. Over the crinkle of paper gowns and beeping monitors, the sounds of Sherlock’s laboured breathing dominated the space. 

Eventually the silence became too much for Molly to bear, the inactivity, the lack of information, everything crushing down on her. She knew she was being impatient, but if there was ever a time for it, it was now. Decision made, Molly stood, startling the others with the unexpected sound and flurry of movement in the room that had stood still for so long. Three sets of eyes shot to her, worry in their questioning eyes as they glanced between her, Sherlock and every piece of equipment he was attached to; worried that she had seen something that they themselves had missed despite their attention.

“Stand down guys. There’s nothing happening, I’m just going to go and find Dr Mark and see if there is any more news. Someone should have been by with the latest results by now.”

At her words they all settled back into the chairs, having shifted forwards in readiness for action. Mycroft included didn’t express any added concern, it was then that Molly understood that he had been and was still happy for her to take control with the doctors, he was content for once not to have to take the lead. Molly looked quickly at them all one last time before stepping around Greg and heading to the door, determined to find out what was happening. With the last update having been that the virus was starting to die, there should have been further updates by now. The only thing Molly could think of that would delay the news was that it wasn’t good news. She knew she shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but it was nor to given their current run of luck, Molly couldn’t discount it. Now she knew her mind was running away from her, it was time to find out and stop the dangerous speculation.

Once she was outside the room and walking parallel to the transparent walls, Molly watched the men of her family as they sat so close together. Movement from the bed caught her attention at the same time the others noticed too. Stopping, Molly pressed herself against the wall, peering into the room hoping to see more. Sherlock’s eyes were open, open and he was glaring at Mycroft, he looked mildly confused but the main thing was that he looked annoyed. As weak as he was he appeared to be trying to extricate his hand from Mycroft’s. John had stood up, kicking his chair back in the process and was leaning over both Mycroft and Sherlock, trying to stop Sherlock fighting Mycroft in his current state. Molly couldn’t see John’s face, but she could picture it just fine. The scene was so familiar, had Sherlock not currently be in a hospital bed and attached to a number of drips and monitors, it could have been any normal day of the week. Not this week, obviously, but before that. Molly banged against the wall with her palms and Greg turned towards the noise, the only one not currently actively trying to stop Sherlock from hurting himself or exerting himself to the point where he started to cough. Greg’s eyes showed a renewed vigour and he made shooing motions with his hands. Molly knew what he meant “Go get the doctors and quick before they get to the shouting and trying to kill each other part!” Molly did a little dance on the spot, joy at Sherlock being awake enough to display signs of his usual personality, if he had the petulant look on his face that reminded her of a child, he must be feeling better. Still dancing in place, Molly couldn’t contain the restrained whoop she let out as she ran off down the corridor, waving to Greg as she headed towards clean up, eventually holding up all five of the fingers on her right hand, the universal sign for five minutes and Molly would be quick, with Sherlock awake she didn't want to spend any more time away than she absolutely had to.


	28. Wakey Wakey, rise and shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Sherlock is back and aaaaaaaaaaaa. I think it's pretty safe to say you're feeling the same! I don't have the next chapter written at this point and I'm hoping I'll get it done in time for the next update, but as usual stuff is getting in the way. Joy of Joy's after surviving a whole year with the plague pit that is my office without getting sick, I had time off over Christmas and managed to get sick. So now I'm coughing like Sherlock! Yep the whole coughing, bursting the blood vessels in the eye, the freaky breathing so you don't cough? Been there done that so it all comes from first hand knowledge. Perfect timing really as it's also my birthday tomorrow. I'm turning the big 30, which let me tell you is rather traumatic haha. Anyway enough of that, hope you enjoy this new chapter! 
> 
> Big thanks as ever to you all and to MyCitrusPocket for her as always patient and superb work helping me get these chapters written. Any mistakes that are left over are all mine.

It seemed that as soon as Molly left the room, Sherlock’s twitching, fitful sleep became full wakefulness. It was as though the removal of her calming influence was felt even on a subconscious level by all of them. Mycroft watched Sherlock carefully, noting each rapid blink as he struggled to open his eyes and then the uncontrolled rolling of the orbs in their sockets, throughout the waking process he kept hold of Sherlock’s hand, waiting for him to win his battle against the lethargy that held him in its grip. John too had moved closer, standing from his seat and leaning over both brothers directly in Sherlock’s eye line. As soon as Sherlock managed to wrestle control of his vision he looked straight at John, excluding everything else in his vicinity. Mycroft stayed as he was, almost afraid to move in case he interrupted the moment, he didn’t however have to wait long to be noticed, as soon enough Sherlock swung his intelligent eyes to land on Mycroft's frozen form where he sat by his side. Mycroft was almost relieved to see clarity in Sherlock’s eyes, they may have been furious as they rested on him, but at least Sherlock was present and looking back from behind the intelligent gaze. John was speaking and it seemed to take a moment for either of the brothers to hear him clearly.

“Sherlock? Sherlock? You with me?”

As soon as John spoke his voice seemed to break the spell that had been keeping Sherlock immobile, he began to struggle. His animosity was directed straight at Mycroft, his contempt at the physical contact Mycroft had initiated while he was incapacitated, more than evident. He started to try and shake free Mycroft’s hand, his movements becoming more insistent even though he was hampered by needles, tubes and cables he was attached to.

“Brother, compose yourself! You are going to cause yourself further injury if you continue.”

“Off! Away!”

Sherlock was batting somewhat feebly at Mycroft's arm despite him having released Sherlock’s hand shortly after he had started his protest. John grasped at Sherlock’s wrists and Mycroft stood and retreated from the side of the bed, he was afraid of hurting Sherlock even slightly, but he couldn’t deny the rejection hurt more than a little. Stepping out of the way he allowed John to move in closer to try and subdue Sherlock’s outburst.

“Sherlock, pack it in right now! You’re going to hurt yourself and we haven’t got you this far for you to ruin it!”

Sherlock ceased his fight but no one could say that he represented compliance in any way shape or form.

“Tell him… to go away.”

“Oi, that’s enough Sherlock. I know you don’t feel well, I understand, but that doesn’t mean you get to be deliberately hurtful. Not good Sherlock. ”

“I’m sick!”

John released his grip on Sherlock’s wrists and perched himself on the edge of the mattress so that he was facing the head of the bed and Sherlock’s petulant face. With one knee drawn up on the covers he steadied himself with the foot that remained on the floor.

“And we all know that, that’s why we’re here. You scared us Sherlock, you still are. Probably will until we get the all clear to take you home. Please, for me, just behave a bit longer?”

With a sharp and short intake of breath, Sherlock nodded once but refused to look John in the eye. John wasn't having that though; gently taking Sherlock’s chin in his fingers he tilted his head upwards slightly cautious not to disturb his oxygen tubes.

“Hey, hey it’s ok. Stay with me, don't disappear again, it’s been bloody quiet without you.”

John lowered his voice, not to hide what he said from Greg and Mycroft but to make sure Sherlock understood just how much he meant the words.

“I've missed you.”

Peering through his lashes, the look Sherlock gave him spoke every word John wanted to hear. Even with a scowl on his face John knew without a doubt that looking back at him was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Despite his hair sticking out at ridiculous angles in some places and plastered to his head in others, Sherlock was and would always be stunning to him. His face was paler than John had probably ever seen and such a bone weary tiredness hovered around him, but none of it changed what John saw. None of that mattered at all.

 

No more than ten minutes could have passed when they heard the door open, each of them turned to see who entered. There was something wrong with the picture but none of them could work out quite what it was.

Molly could see the puzzles on the faces of John, Greg and Mycroft. They all sat in silence just staring at her as though she contained the answers to the universe. It wasn't long until she heard a faint grumble from the bed behind John and saw Sherlock’s long fingers creeping around John’s arm and pushing him sideways slightly. Leaning to his left his face appeared around him. Molly leant right to mirror his pose and smiled, a big, visible smile.

“I am no longer contagious.”

John’s head swivelled to look back at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes and waves his hand weakly.

“No protective... clothing... Obviously.”

The three other men looked at each other as Sherlock slumped to return to his resting pose. Identical looks of disbelief that they had managed to miss such an important thing showed though each of their postures. A sheepishness caused by the embarrassment of missing something they believed they should have caught with their training.

Molly had quite forgotten that Dr Mark stood behind her and jumped slightly when he cleared his throat and stepped around her.

“If everyone is quite done with the shocked looks worthy of zooming camera close ups on a daytime TV soap? I think I have some information you would quite like to hear, Mr Holmes.”

Sherlock huffed from his position in the bed, the process of making the noise enough to have him coughing a little, but nothing too troubling while he was sitting up. His breathing might still be shocking, but there was no doubting his attitude was back if not his health just yet. Molly had no doubt if he had been able to catch his breath properly, a diatribe of insults would have flown in their direction. She winced, waiting for the usual to happen, either Sherlock would try again or Mark would lose his temper in the same way so many people did when dealing with Sherlock’s unique version of public relations. Surprisingly Mark did neither. He stepped sideways so that he could look straight at Sherlock and addressed him directly, maintaining eye contact so there could be no doubt as to who he was speaking to.

“Now was there really call for that? Did I at any point say which Mr Holmes? You took it upon yourself to assume I wasn’t talking to you, but to your brother. That is if I'm judging your derisive snort correctly and I believe I am. I should think that sibling rivalry and feelings of inadequacy would be your own issue, not mine. Now if you’re finished are you going to let me continue?

Everyone in the room was stunned at the interaction and their jaws dropped in surprise. Sherlock glowered from the bed but did not reply and everyone else wasn’t sure what they should be doing, but they did know that they had to try and suppress the shocked giggles that threatened to break free. In seconds of meeting a somewhat “normal” Sherlock complete with willing acerbic attitude, Mark, essentially a stranger, had put Sherlock in his place.

John managed to get himself back under control quite quickly, stroking Sherlock’s hand he made soothing noises all the time, not actually daring to try and look anyone else in the eye even as he twisted to turn his attention to the doctor who came with such good news. As much as he wanted to he daren’t laugh, Sherlock was going to be hard enough work as it was, if he thought they were laughing at him too, he’d be worse. Also John might want to coddle him just a little bit.

“I can carry on then? So Mr Holmes, congratulations, you are now virus free. All your samples are coming back clear now, it's quite fascinating really, Dr Hooper has requested I preserve a few samples for you to see, though regrettably for you, you won't be able to remove them from this location. I've been advised that you would probably like to see them regardless and I'm sure it will be arranged as soon as we decide you're fit enough. Please do note the we, not you. I have the feeling you might not be the easiest patient in recuperation Mr Holmes, but bear in mind the more you push yourself(,) the longer it will take for us to deem you well. Am I understood so far?”

Sherlock was pouting and frowning, but he was silent and not arguing which in itself was something of a miracle and that didn't pass unnoticed by anyone in the room. Eventually when he seemed to realise Mark was waiting for some kind of response, Sherlock nodded once impatiently from the bed.

They all listened intently as the details were laid out for them. Sherlock still had Viral pneumonia, after being so sick though it seemed the best possible news they could have received. Having been battered with antibiotics since he’d first displayed symptoms twenty four hours before, the risk of anyone catching it from him were low enough that the medical team were satisfied that the face masks and precautions were no longer necessary. For all the details they were given the main thing they heard was that Sherlock was getting better, that he wasn't at deaths door, that maybe everything was going to be ok after all.

“Basically, Mr Holmes, you are a lucky man. We're going to leave you on some medication just to give you a bit of a boost for a little longer, it can't do any harm and we’ll leave you with the oxygen to make things a bit easier, but you’re doing well. We’ll check on you later but I think you're probably in good hands here. Now I'll leave you to it.”

With absent minded calls of thank you, no one was really paying much attention to Mark’s leaving, so lost in trying to absorb and come to terms with the events of the last day. They did snap to attention when there was a yelp from the door as Anthea flew into the room and almost bowled Mark over. Skidding to a halt, Anthea quickly made sure he was alright before seemingly forgetting his presence entirely. Her excitement was brimming over and her eyes flicked to each of them in turn, with a flap of her hands she said the one thing that seemed to make sense to all of them.

“Molly called!”

Anthea grinned at Molly and she couldn’t help but grin back. As far as Molly was concerned Anthea’s skin looked like it was having trouble holding all of the excitement inside her. With a hop and a skip, Anthea was moving again, charging towards Mycroft and Molly cringed waiting for the clash that was coming, but she needn’t have worried. As soon as Anthea reached Mycroft, she unleashed her elbows and Molly winced as she connected one to Mycroft’s stomach and elbowed him out of the way, she could tell it hadn’t really hurt him as he’d stepped back just in time to avoid most of the force as soon as he saw her heading towards them with Sherlock as her goal.

Anthea soon pressed herself to the side of the bed and leant over(,) pulling Sherlock to her and hugging him quickly. Backing up a bit but still holding on to his shoulders Anthea looked him in the face before grasping each side of his head in her hands, squishing his features before releasing his cheeks and pulling him into a tight hug again, probably tighter than she should, but she couldn't bring herself to let go just yet. Anthea took the time to whisper as her lips lay next to Sherlock’s ear.

“Told you you’d be fine, but I swear to God if you scare me like that again you’re in trouble and I don't care how stubborn you are, nothing will save you from me.”

It was testament in itself that Sherlock didn’t fight her hug, he may not have actively participated but he didn’t reject it. As she hugged him Anthea could feel the effort he was using to breathe, the unevenness of the breaths made his body judder against hers as a reminder that he wasn't back to normal just yet, but at least he was now heading in the right direction.

 

\-----

 

Molly approached Mycroft slowly and watched as his face relaxed into a smile as he looked down at Sherlock and Anthea. Stepping behind him she ran her fingers up his arm and across his shoulders to warn him of her presence. Reaching up she undid the ties to his surgical mask, pulling it away from his face and balling it in her fist before throwing it into a nearby bin. Molly lifted his arm away from his body and ducked to step underneath it, wrapping it around her waist once she was at his side and entwined her fingers with his resting their joined hands against her stomach. Tucking herself tight into the heat of his body, she prepared to stay as they were for as long as Mycroft wanted to. Once she was settled he squeezed her tightly in response and recognition, but remained looking at Sherlock. Tilting her head up, Molly waited for him to look down at her and when he did her knees almost gave out on her, there was lightness and the spark of life back in his eyes. Relief made her weak and as she sagged against him she knew Mycroft had felt it when his instincts had him tightening his grip on her. Wrapping his other arm around her he held her up and quickly settled Molly into a chair he dragged from the side of the bed. Crouching in front of Molly, her hands held in his, their heads close together Mycroft was obviously concerned.

“Molly? Is there something wrong?”

“No, just relief. Lots of relief. Didn’t expect it to catch up on me quite so suddenly I suppose.”

“You scared me, my dearest.”

Molly let her head tip forwards and her hair slid from behind her ears to curtain her face. She hid behind it trying to be as small and unobtrusive as possible, Molly mumbled quietly across the small distance between them.

“I’m sorry, My. I didn’t mean to distract you. It’s just good to see you look happy that’s all.”

Mycroft reached both hands upwards and brushed his fingers through the soft hair that hid her from him, catching it between his fingers he tucked it back behind her ears to expose her blushed pink face. Now he could see her again he slowly slid his hands down her arms to take her hands in his once more(,) not wanting to loose the physical contact between them for a moment. Leaning in he nudged at her heated cheek with his nose until she tilted her head at his insistence and he pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips.

“Shh, everything’s fine, we are all going to be fine.”

“I know, it’s just really, really good to see.”

Molly closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks and leant forwards a little more until she could rest her forehead against Mycroft’s shoulder. She took several deep breaths that Mycroft felt through the fabric of his shirt and then against his neck when she turned to breathe in the comfort his scent provided. Her voice was breathy with wonder and held hints at what she’d been bottling up inside herself.

“He’s awake, My. He’s really awake and being him and I hoped so bloody much that everything would be fine. It feels like everything’s been running so high for the longest week of my life and even though there’s still more to do it feels like right now it doesn't even matter because Sherlock is going to be ok. Does that even make sense?”

“Absolutely perfect sense, Molly.” 

Slipping his hands from hers, Mycroft shifted from crouching to kneeling on the floor between Molly’s feet. He wound his arms around her settling them low on her back and pulled her to the edge of the seat until her knees cradled his hips and they were flush against each other with her curled against him and rested his head atop hers. Taking advantage of the distraction in the room, he took the time to move his focus from everything else and just do what Molly needed him to do, holding her close and saying nothing. She didn’t need words, just time to process everything and he completely understood, rocking them gently side to side Mycroft used the time to do the same. 

 

\-----

 

Once Anthea reluctantly let Sherlock go, she quickly threw her arms around John in a joyous hug. She was so excited that she couldn't help the flapping she seemed to be doing with her arms, when she was truly excited and the emotions were genuine it was as though it tried to escape all over and all at once. Taking deep breaths Anthea tried to control herself, she was doing well until she spotted Greg watching her intently. She shot straight towards him, skirting around the bed with hop and a skip. Greg stayed where he was in the chair, but as she moved quickly in his direction he opened his arms and Anthea leapt into his embrace, so completely unreserved that when the chair beneath them groaned at the abuse they both grimaced slightly and stilled for a moment more than a little bit worried, waiting to see if they would both end up in a heap on the floor. When it voiced no more protests and seemed steady enough, Anthea and Greg ceased to see or hear anything else in the room. Now there was only the pair of them and the excitement and relief that coursed through them in equal measure.

Anthea knew she was in the right place, this room was where she’d needed to be. She’d needed to see with her own eyes that things were going to be ok, without hearing and seeing for herself she'd still have that little niggle in the back of her mind. As soon as the rushed call from Molly had been transferred through and she’d heard those few words that had made her heart race instantly “he’s awake, the virus is gone.” Anthea had almost fled the room at a run. Hell she’d been on her way to the door shouting instructions for people to carry on in her absence as soon as she'd dropped the phone. She didn’t need to be there while housing options were picked, or paperwork created, all of those tedious but necessary things could and would happen whether she was there or not. She’d pointed to one of her juniors as she sped out and put him in charge in her absence, instructing them to call her only if extremely necessary she’d be back later. Her priority was getting to her family, awake and almost whole.

 

Straddling Greg’s lap with her hands pressed to his chest, Anthea felt his fingers gripping at her rear and holding her steady. Cupping his face Anthea slid her fingers gently between Greg’s cheeks and the paper mask, she felt his lashes brush against her knuckles before she pulled it slowly downwards to hang loosely around his neck, revealing the brilliant smile she’d been craving. Job complete she wound her fingers around the back of Greg’s head her fingers playing with the short strands of his hair as she leant in for a kiss. They broke away quickly, both of their too big for the kiss to continue, but they stayed as they were, noses and foreheads touching. Anthea’s elbows moved to rest on Greg’s shoulders, the close contact keeping them wrapped in each other, cocooned together in the frame of her arms. She allowed her fingers to migrate to the longer hair on the top of his head, gently tugging at it as she twirled it around her fingers.

“You doing ok now?”

Anthea tried to stop herself going cross-eyed as she attempted to focus on Greg's face, she was failing a little bit but Greg wasn't going to say anything, she looked adorable. When he didn't get words but rather just contented noises in return, Greg felt the knot in his stomach loosen.

 

“You want to stay like that or turn round?”

 

“Want to stay here a bit, kinda like you grabbing my ass.”

 

“I'm a gent, don't want you falling off now, do I?”

 

Anthea snorted at that and wiggled a little more in response to a tightening of his hands as he spoke. 

 

“You happier now? He’s going to be fine, the virus is gone. Just got to get over a little pneumonia and he’ll be back to normal and driving us crazy.”

 

“Good crazy though.”

 

“Yeah good crazy, I'll remind you of that when he calls at three in the morning to tell me he's solved one of the cold case files we give him to keep him entertained.”

 

Twisting her head but still keeping her forehead against Greg's, Anthea moved just enough to bring Sherlock and John into her eye line. She took a few moments to just watch them interact. A smile twitching at her lips and her face soft and relaxed.

 

“I'll always be thankful, even then, after seeing him like he was. But yeah, you'd best keep the reminder ready, just in case.”

 

Anthea stood from Greg's lap briefly, only long enough to turn around and sit back down so that she faced the room and leant back against Greg’s chest. She was still pressed close but it was no longer an action that excluded them from the rest of the room. Anthea looked to the other side of the bed, passed John and Sherlock wrapped in their own world to Molly and Mycroft, Anthea nudged Greg with her shoulder to get him to look too. Her concern was piqued again. Greg murmured his voice low as it rumbled against her shoulder.

“Think they’re ok?”

 

Anthea watched intently, trying to observe as much as possible before making a decision.

 

“Yeah, Mycroft’s got this.”

 

Anthea was right, Mycroft knew what he needed to do. With the news they had all just needed a moment to centre themselves again. Now they’d done that they each gradually returned to facing the focus of the room. Sherlock was awake and alert. No one was quite ready to walk away, they wanted to be in his presence until they were convinced it was true. Despite the small arguments that occasionally broke out amongst them they did actually enjoy spending time together and the time spent now felt like it was reaffirming those bonds that had been so stretched over the week. There was nothing pressing that called them away, no guilt that they should be somewhere else. They could ignore for at least a short time the work that continued in their absence.

After a while, conversation began to flow between them and laughter soon followed. Despite himself even Sherlock was unable to rise above it for long, Greg’s good natured prodding raising a reaction in him.

 

“So how long you gonna milk this for, Sherlock? You'll have everyone at your beck   
and call for weeks if you play it right.”

 

“There will be no exaggeration... involved! It is evident to all here that I... am ill, Lestrade.”

 

It was too long a sentence for Sherlock to have tried, but he didn't seem to be able to stop himself. He soon regretted it when he felt the familiar spasm in his chest that heralded an oncoming bout of coughing. He took several sharp intakes of breath, short and quick. Sherlock knew they alarmed John but it seemed to work in placating the muscles that wanted him to collapse into an agonising and frankly frightening series of coughs that seemed to steal his ability to breathe in. His body only wanting to expel the fluid in his lungs seemed to fight the very real need to draw in air. Sherlock could feel the pressure building in his head when it happened but found himself completely at the mercy of his body, merely hoping that it would eventually take pity on him and allow him a much needed rush of cool air into his lungs. The relief it brought making the stars that danced in his eyes and pressure that seemed to be crushing his head recede just a little around the edges.

John filled the gap that Sherlock’s distraction brought, giving him the time he needed to concentrate both on keeping his breathing as even as possible so that it didn't put added stress on him, but whenever John spoke Sherlock listened whether he thought he did or not. His brain just soaked up the words and the tone, not necessarily responding but filing away the information for a later date.

“Greg, will you behave please? You know what he’s like. He won't let a challenge like that go.”

Even though he was concentrating Sherlock had to respond to being talked about rather than to.

“Still... Here.”

John patted Sherlock’s hair absently, but continued on as he had been. John was forced to look between the two of them and he seriously had to think hard to remember that both of these were grown men and well respected by many people. Right now they looked like little boy’s who'd been chastised by a parent. John sighed, what on earth was he going to do with them?

“Any running round after Sherlock will be done without complaint and all because he deserves looking after. Don't you(,)love?”

The look Sherlock shot Greg was pure smugness, there was nothing else he could call it and John knew then that he was fighting a losing battle. He looked towards Molly and Mycroft who sat side by side holding hands, but they threw identical looks in his direction that clearly said John was on his own with this one. He glared back at them with his own.

“Cheers you two, could do with a bit of help here, you know?”

Laughing, Molly took pity on him while Mycroft remained relaxed in the chair, making no move to intervene.

“Oi, the pair of you pack it in. I saw a kettle in the doctors break room, who wants a brew?”

In true British tradition at the mention of a cup of tea everything else was forgotten in an instant as shouts of agreement all sounded over each other.

“Sherlock? I think you’ll probably be allowed some if you want. What do you think John?”

John nodded when Sherlock looked at him and then nodded at Molly.

“Biscuit?”

“Sorry Sweetie, probably not the best idea right now in case you inhale the crumbs. Soon though, ok? When we’re home I’ll make some of your favourites just for you and you can eat the whole batch and I won’t say a word.”

Sherlock looked very sorry for himself, but he didn't argue with Molly. To be fair, she was one of the few people he didn't argue with, not anymore at least. He valued her too much, that and she stuck up for him when she thought the others were being too hard on him. Molly leant over John and stroked Sherlock’s head.

 

“I won’t even let My steal one.”

 

At that, Sherlock smiled and nodded and Molly knew she was probably adding fuel to the fire, but it wouldn’t do any harm, like John said he needed looking after. When she turned around she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the small pout to Mycroft’s lips. She should have known that no matter the circumstances the prospect of one of the siblings having something and the other not when it came to baked goods, was going to cause issues. Moving around his chair, Molly stood behind Mycroft and smoothed his hair with her hands.

“You’ll get some too, don’t panic.” 

 

Sherlock squeaked indignantly from the bed, no longer quite so happy with the proceedings. Molly sighed, dealing with the brothers really could be a full time occupation.

“I’ll make you both some. You can have a whole batch each, ok? No sharing, I’ll even make them in separate bowls so you can’t complain that they are really just one batch.”

Both brothers looked at each other and Molly was waiting for further argument. After a few moments of eye scrunching and staring, eventually they both nodded their heads in agreement. Molly was relieved that they’d left it there and that they could move passed it.

“Everyone sorted now? Good, I’ll be back in a mo.”

With that Molly went to make the tea, once she was outside it was a strange feeling being able to pass by the decontamination area. She did stop to wash her hands out of habit though.

 

Finally John had given in to Sherlock’s pleading and was lying fully on the bed with Sherlock. He’d removed his shoes and lay on top of the blankets but at least he was where Sherlock wanted him to be. It wasn’t the widest bed, but they’d spent nights in tighter spots than this and the only thing that mattered was that he had John close. Sherlock lay on his back firmly settled so that he was half laying on top of John who had his arm wrapped around Sherlock’s shoulders, anchoring him in place. It was much better than being on his own and felt almost normal if he closed his eyes and just allowed his mind to register John’s presence and the familiar hum of the family’s presence. It was a sound he had become accustomed to over the years, often it surrounded him while he retreated to his mind palace when forced to be in attendance at whatever event Molly deemed necessary. As much as he might exclaim otherwise it was rather comforting, though he wouldn't be admitting so any time soon.

Sherlock couldn’t keep his eyes open, he was fighting the weights that seemed to be dragging his eyes closed, not yet ready to end up alone and back inside his head. He wanted to feel the support around him and feel John against his side as a solid reminder that he wasn’t on his own. He didn’t have to get better and battle this on his own, not this time and probably never again. That shocked him every time the thought appeared in his mind. He wasn’t alone anymore and no matter how difficult he was, much to his constant surprise, they didn’t leave him. Several years and still it was a staggering thing to realise and it scared him. He couldn’t deny how much it unnerved him, how much worry he felt that his actions when he didn't quite understand a situation would make them give up on him. Whether his inability to express himself would push them away? He tried and he was getting better, he was learning, but it took time to change a lifetime’s worth of conditioned responses. 

Sherlock could hear John talking away next to him and the voices floated around him lulling him even deeper into the grasp of sleep. Sherlock forced his eyes open and turning his head, struggled to focus on John and when he finally did he could see that something wasn’t quite right, but his brain just couldn’t identify it, too sluggish and dulled to a level that had Sherlock frustrated beyond words. John looked like John but at the same time there was something else, something hidden behind it all. Sherlock listened to John, searching his word choice and tone to try and piece it all together. When he finally saw it, Sherlock was in awe, it was worry he saw, deeply rooted and petrifying worry. John was trying to hide it, but now saw it, he wondered how he ever missed it. He wanted to be alone with John, for these last few moments before he loses the battle with sleep.

“Make them go away?”

John didn't hear Sherlock right away, his voice was so quiet it almost got lost amongst the conversations flowing around him. He sounded so tired and so little that John couldn’t help but want to comply. He didn't want to offend anyone but he needn’t have worried, the others had heard Sherlock speak, if they hadn't heard the words they had at least grasped what he wanted. Already they we raising and straightening from their chairs to leave the room. Molly and Anthea were picking up the evidence of their presence, taking with them discarded cups, plates and empty packets of biscuits pilfered from the doctor’s lounge.

 

When they filed from the room Mycroft halted just outside and with one last nod to John, dimmed the lights and turned to where Molly stood behind him. Taking her hand they walked side by side to join Anthea and Greg where they waited in the shadows of the corridor that lead to the rest of the compound. Forced by necessity to return to the real world and the responsibilities that waited for them. John watched on as their support system walked slowly away, paired up, more at ease and happy. Distracted from everything else by Sherlock’s progress. He was drawn back to the room by Sherlock breaking the silence they found themselves in.

“Are you mine, John?”

John looked down at Sherlock with a confused look on his face, startled but the question and perhaps not fully understanding the weight of the question.

“Where’s that come from?”

“Are you mine, John?”

Sherlock was more instant and John heard then just how important a question it was to him. He might not understand but that didn't matter, only his answer did.

“Well, I'm not anyone else's.”

“But are you mine?”

John could hear the pleading vulnerability in Sherlock’s voice, an uncertain tremor evident even beneath the breathlessness of his speech. John leant closer still, but waited for Sherlock to look at him before he continued. When their eyes met he put everything into his gaze, he made sure Sherlock could see the strength of his words and know without doubt that they were the truth.

“Always have been. Always will be.”

 

Sherlock seemed to mull over his words for a second before he nodded and settled tight against John’s side.

 

“Good.”

 

“Very good, love. Now go to sleep.”

 

“Not tired. Slept all day.”

 

Sherlock’s words and his actions were at war. All the while he protested he snuggled closer to John, rubbing his face against John’s chest and breathing in his “John” smell. Even underneath the pervasive scents of disinfectant and the slightly sour smell of sickness, Sherlock could still smell home and comfort.

“Bored, John. Can we go home yet?”

 

“When you’re well enough and it’s safe. Now stop complaining and go to sleep.”

 

John made sure to take the sting from his words by dropping a kiss on top of Sherlock’s hair and tightening his arm slightly around the frail feeling body he’d missed at his side. He couldn’t believe just how long the last two days had felt, from a warehouse to being separated in quarantine, to arriving at this point had felt like a lifetime. Sherlock grumbled against his chest.

 

“I smell.”

 

“You smell fine, I’ll take you for a bath tomorrow if it makes you happy, but neither of us is moving right now so get used to it.”

 

“Bossy.”

 

“Don't think I don't know what you're doing. Stop fighting and go to sleep. I'm not going anywhere.”

 

Sherlock sounded far away as at last he started to let go. The few hours he’d been awake sapping all the energy he had, leaving him running on stubbornness alone.

 

“Promise?”

 

“I promise I'll be here when you wake up.”

John felt Sherlock’s body as it relaxed against him. With sleep came a breathing pattern he was more satisfied with, now Sherlock wasn't fighting what his body needed to do it was easier and that soothed John slightly as he lay next to Sherlock in the dim room. John’s whole attention focussed on listening for any signs that Sherlock was in distress, it was going to be a long wait, but John knew there was nowhere else he’d rather be.


	29. Slow progress is still progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back with another chapter, sorry for the delay. Real life has it's demands every now and then and manages to mess up all my plans. The next one is written and going off to beta so I'm back on track. Thank you for all your support for my story, I know I say it every time, but it is the absolute truth. 
> 
> Thanks as always for the fab work of MyCitrusPocket, without her this isn't possible. Trust me in that. 
> 
> Ok so enough from me and on with the story!

Everyone was quiet as they walked away from Sherlock and John, leaving them alone in the bubble they created around themselves. Being together as a cohesive unit had been important and they had all known that, but it couldn’t last forever. For a short time they had allowed themselves to  put aside everything else, reluctant or not it was time to return to the world that demanded their attention.

 

Just before the four of them separated Molly tugged on Mycroft’s hand, he stopped and looked at her with concern in his eyes.

 

“If I cook later, can you eat?”

 

He looked pensive for a moment and glanced to Anthea and Greg where they’d carried on ahead.

 

“Anthea?”

 

As she heard him, Anthea stopped and swung both her and Greg around. Some of her hair fell from the elegant twist on her head, slipping down to conceal one of her eyes. Tucking it back behind her ear she looked at Mycroft and waited expectantly.

 

“Timescale?”

 

Mycroft watched her, the calculations she made in her head almost tactile enough to see in the air between them. He knew, in that small amount of time, that she had run through every detail she possessed and assigned each item a likely amount of time until completion. The hesitancy in her voice when she spoke was unfounded. Whether or not the words she spoke were the ones he wanted to hear or not, he knew given the circumstances she was as accurate as it was possible to be.

 

“8 hours?”

 

“Question or statement, Anthea?”

 

“Can it be both?”

 

Mycroft just about gave up, looking to the ceiling and counting to ten he puffed his cheeks out and thought. Though he trusted what she said he didn’t have to want to hear it. Mycroft had wanted Anthea to make the decision for him. He hadn’t wanted it to be so long, he despaired that he had be the one to disappoint Molly. He seemed to be constantly making her wait for him and it galled him. He honestly didn’t want this to be a snapshot of their lives; he didn’t want to be the man that kept his wife waiting, only for him to not come home as he’d promised. Images of her sitting on her own at their dining table waiting for him well after he’d been due to return made themselves extremely prevalent in his mind. What it boiled down to was he didn’t want to let her down. Molly interrupted his thoughts with the warm touch of her hand to his face, the contact immediately halted the destructive train of thoughts that had steamrolled in his head.

 

“Hey, woah there. Stop, ok? I can work with eight hours, if it’s longer it’s longer. Can I borrow one of the kitchens? Greg can help me and I won’t make anything that’s time sensitive. No panic, alright?”

 

He looked down at her with his usual expression of wonder when Molly’s words answered the whirring in his mind, even when he thought he was managing to conceal his inner turmoil. She would make a superb interrogator really, if she could see the inner most thoughts of a Holmes mind then there could be none that could hide their thoughts from her if she wanted to see them.

 

“I’ll cook “home” nothing that will get ruined if it has to wait, so no worries. I think you need a reminder what all this is for and that it’ll be over soon and worth it.”

 

Just the idea of that alone calmed Mycroft. Molly was always right, he knew what this was all for. There could be no doubt but with each revelation, but it was hard not to become bogged down in the details. He looked back at Anthea and Greg, making eye contact with them both briefly, seeking their opinion. It wasn’t all about him, he wasn’t selfish enough to think it was and their input was invaluable.

 

“I’m good to help, no worries. I’m not bad in the kitchen.”

 

Anthea piped up dryly at that.

 

“We haven’t had to get the first aid kit out in a while, you might be able to make use of him, Molly.”

 

Molly was always thankful for Anthea, but she really wanted to hug her now. Adding humour to the situation just made things easier. The tension had ratcheted up considerably while Mycroft let the guilt get to him, and Anthea knew them well enough to help eliminate that.

 

“See My, we’re good. Now, game face on beautiful, you’ve got work to do. Greg and me are entertained so you don’t need to worry about us. Go do your thing.”

 

Molly gave Mycroft a little bit of a push in Anthea’s direction and beckoned for Greg to come with her. Mycroft wanted to speak, the words unsure and catching in his throat, but once again Molly headed him off before he could.

 

“I know you’ll come if you can. If you can’t? I understand and I know you will when it’s possible. So off you go. Come on Greg, you can chop stuff for me.”

 

She didn’t wait for Mycroft to move further and didn’t look back, knowing the slightest hesitation on her part would affect Mycroft and she needed him to know he was ok, that she was ok and that he didn’t need to worry.

 

“Greg, come on! I know where we can find a kitchen and I’m guessing it has what I need. If not we can get it sorted, we’ve got connections you know.”

 

With a fleeting “See you later!” Greg jogged after Molly and Mycroft could still hear her chattering away when the ding of a lift bell sounded, her voice only disappearing with the closing of the doors.

 

“Anthea, I do believe we’ve been dismissed.”

  
“I think you might be right, awesome though. We’re getting Molly’s cooking later. If that’s not incentive to get stuff done, then there’s no hope for us.”

 

Apparently he wasn’t moving to her schedule because she stalked to him and grabbed his sleeve to drag him off.

 

“Come on! Stuff to do and we’ve got a deadline. We’re eating tonight if I have to sort out cattle prods to get everyone moving.”

 

With Sherlock awake and getting better and Molly showing her strength and letting him know she was fine and occupied, Mycroft found his mind quietened considerably. The constant buzzing that had been his companion finally cleared enough to allow his thoughts to fall into line once more. His years spent in a stressful environment allowed him to work through the cacophony, but that didn’t mean it was ever easy. The checklist in his mind was dwindling, items being checked off and moved out of the way, the reduced demands became more and more achievable, a sure sign that the end was not far away. Quite a change in such a short space of time, Mycroft would never admit it out loud, but even he had been overwhelmed by the landslide of events and blows that had been thrown in his direction. It was his job as head of the family to shoulder it, but the weight had been a heavy one. He’d not had to face it alone though, he recognised the support he’d been given along the way.  Each family member doing what they did best, dividing and conquering as they went, he knew it was something he would never be able to adequately repay. It seemed such a strange thought, but Mycroft knew that as stressful and emotionally draining as it had all been this would bring them even closer as a unit. Shoring up the bonds he had already believed to be strong, now he knew them to be unbreakable.  When they made it through this? They would be invincible.

 

Anthea continued to drag Mycroft until they reached a different lift to the one Molly and Greg had used.  She tapped her foot impatiently as she repeatedly pressed the call button.

 

“Anthea? Are we in a rush?”

 

“Deadline, we’re not wasting time. Why is this taking so long?”

 

At last the door opened and Anthea pushed Mycroft inside. With her finger hovering over the button for the level his subterranean office was located, she raised her eyebrow in question. He nodded and she pressed that one, following it by selecting the floor she required further up in the building. Appeased that they were now making progress she turned her attention back to Mycroft.

 

“You’ve got people to talk to and I need to check that the papers and travel plans are in place. We also need to get everyone together and lay out the plans and check we’ve got everything covered. Divide and conquer Mycroft, divide and conquer!”

 

Leaving the lift, Mycroft left Anthea pacing in the confined space as she muttered to herself. Before the doors closed and separated them, Mycroft called to her.

 

“Anthea, two hours and we meet in the large conference room. I want updates on where we stand on everything. I don’t care if not everything is confirmed, though I do want as clear a picture as possible.”

 

With matching nods Mycroft and Anthea maintained eye contact as the doors closed and separated them to continue on their individual paths. Turning sharply, Mycroft walked with purpose towards his destination.  Knowing that Anthea was more than capable of managing the tasks she took in hand, left Mycroft able to focus on what could be the biggest issue. He had the task of making sure that once they arrived in Chile sufficient provisions would be available to them; without that, it wouldn’t matter how quickly they arrived, there would be nothing they could do. Mycroft was almost certain that this was the one with the biggest stakes as far as he was concerned. Arriving at his preferred office deep in the bowels of the structure uninterrupted, whether by chance or design was irrelevant, he was focussed and unwavering, and that combination in a Holmes was a state to be reckoned with.

 

It was with a single minded determination that Mycroft took his seat and with a deep steadying breath picked up his phone, prepared to be as convincing as possible as he laid out the case to Vincente. There could be no other outcome than an agreement between the two men and Mycroft would entertain no thoughts that the conversation would not go as he needed it to. As ever, the phone didn’t ring for long before it was answered with Vincente’s usual style.

 

“Long time no speak, my friend. What could little old Vincente do for you in the middle of the night?”

 

Mycroft cursed inwardly, the man who thought of everything hadn’t considered that not everyone ran to the same schedule as he.  

 

“I do apologise Vincente, however, I believe there is a situation in which we may mutually benefit with only a little input from your position.”

 

Rustling sounds of sheets and the murmur of a female voice filtered to Mycroft’s ear, he then heard the sound of a door opening and closing followed by the sound of slippered feet on a tiled floor. It wasn’t long until with the click of another door closing that Vincente addressed him again.

 

“Seeing as you’ve called at this hour, I’m assuming time is sensitive? What can I do for you?”

 

“It has come to my attention that you have a problem with a character named The Cannibal..) What if I were to suggest I have a solution to said problem and required your assistance to orchestrate a mutually beneficial operation?”

 

“I believe I would say tell me more Mycroft, and ask what you needed.”

 

There and then Mycroft knew he had his attention and regardless of the negotiating that had to be done, the outcome would be in his favour. Intrigue was always the key and he definitely supplied that.

 

“Everything is almost in place, your involvement need not be large and I do not ask that any of this be official.”

 

“When is it ever?”

 

“A valid point. I shall handle everything else but I do require access to arms and supplies.”

 

“How many and when?”

 

“Not an insignificant amount, though I believe you have access to a vast cache of seized weaponry from your dealings with the cartels that may be of use?”

 

“Ah, you wish to do the same as we did in 2004?”

 

“I believe it offers the best possible outcome for both of us.”

 

“Then let us work out the details.”

 

Hashing out the details didn’t take as long as Mycroft had feared, the plans coming together easily between two people who knew how the game was played. Non essential details were held back for the benefit of both of them. Vincente would do his part without needing to know the whole of the operation, trusting that Mycroft supplied him with all the pertinent information.

 

“Mycroft, just one thing. Do try not to make a scene when you are here, I’d prefer not to have to explain our actions to those who think themselves in charge. I do find it tiring.”

 

“In and out, with as little impact outside of the mission as possible. The team is not there to make headlines, only to get the job done.”

 

“Call me when they arrive and I will arrange access to the seized stores, they may take their pick no questions. A pleasure working with you, as always.”

 

“No, thank _you_ for your cooperation.”

 

“As you say, it is in our mutual interests, though I do not profess to understand your reasoning, it is not my concern. The Cannibal has been a plague on my country for a very long time, it is my belief that he has amassed such an empire that the increase in problems my country has faced over the last twenty years could largely be laid at his door.”

 

“I will be in touch soon Vincente, we shall do our utmost to rid us both of this problem.”

 

They ended the call quickly after that. Normally Mycroft would be reluctant to divulge even as little information as he had in order to secure the aid. However, he had worked with Vincente before and knew him to be an honourable and honest man. Replacing the phone handset in the cradle he allowed himself a moment of relief. The biggest obstruction to these early stages were coming together, the most difficult eliminated by his phone call. Arranging accommodation and flights? That was the bread and butter of their lives and would pose no issue. Now was time to compile all they had and prepare the team. Knowing the individuals as he did, Mycroft knew that locating them in order to proceed with the briefing was going be the hardest part. They had a tendency to scatter to the winds in order to decompress on their own. With the time that had passed between Anthea and he separating and the conclusion of his call, he knew that it was likely that enough time had passed for Anthea to have compiled the various pieces she had taken responsibility for. Now it was simply time to lay out the details for those who would be executing their hastily made plans. If he didn’t have as much confidence in them as individuals, Mycroft might have felt somewhat nervous proceeding as they were. They were professionals and though they may not have existed as a team for more than a few days, they had his faith. Though the desire to do something quite so superstitious as cross his fingers nudged at the corner of his mind regardless of his conviction. Mycroft knew now was not the time for procrastination and so with movements that showed just how little sleep he was surviving on, he straightened his shirt and tie, grimacing at the state of them and the fact that he had been wearing them for far too long. It wouldn’t delay him a vast amount of time to rectify the problem. It would also serve to prepare him to step in front of the gathered agents. Decision made, Mycroft hurried towards his and Molly’s room to change before he went in search of Anthea. Her aid would be required in order to gather the necessary parties.

 

 

It was chance that had Mycroft locating Kat, a frown marred his face when he came upon her sitting on the floor, propped against a wall and fast asleep. It was a somewhat perplexing sight, there was no reason for her to be sleeping where she was. She had a perfectly serviceable room, permanently assigned to her and used by no other at any point.

 

When she did not rouse as he approached, Mycroft crouched by her side just beyond her reach and spoke her name once. Waking her through touch could easily result in him sporting a new bruise or worse, depending on her stress levels.  She came awake immediately, no hint of sleep remained in her instantly alert frame. She scanned her surroundings thoroughly before confirming she was not under threat, only then did she look at him.

 

“Why, Kat?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“Don’t be difficult.”

 

She shrugged her shoulders and pointed in the direction of the room opposite.

 

“Waiting for my washing to finish.”

 

“I’m quite sure they would still have been there had you returned to your room to sleep in comfort.”

 

“Eh, you know me, makes no difference where I am. We learn to grab sleep where and when we can, got back into the habit recently, that’s all.”

 

Mycroft rose from his crouch and held out his hand. Her statement said all he needed to know about how she’d been living recently. Mycroft could of course seek out the details of her last assignment, but they didn’t matter. All he needed to know could be put together from what he had seen so far. Not enough sleep, dangerous situations that left her jumpy and they had lasted long enough for her to become used to putting aside matters of comfort in order to keep going. When Kat took his hand he hauled her to her feet. She brushed off the seat of her trousers and looked at him expectantly.

 

“So what we up to now, Mycroft? Any news for me?”

 

“So impatient, but yes. A briefing shall take place in an hour, the team just needs to be gathered.”

 

“I can do that for you, I know where to find them. You want them all there?”

 

“I believe it would be for the best and would save time. It would be helpful if I could leave the task of locating and instructing the rest of your team to meet us in the large conference room. The headways made should appease even you.”

 

“No worries, I’ve got it, leave it to me.”

 

At that they parted ways and Kat watched Mycroft until he turned the corner and headed in the direction of his own room. Stretching out her joints, Kat wondered how long she’d been asleep on the cold, hard floor; a look at her watch suggested at least a few hours. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the floor, she’d only sat down to wait for the tumble dryer. She’d planned on spending the time working through her thoughts and emotions, a task she often tried to avoid as it caused her more problems than ignoring it completely. There had been a lot of shocks in the short time since she’d received Mycroft’s call and part of her did wish she hadn’t come. However, she knew that there could have been no other way. Shaking off the melancholia that settled around her shoulders, Kat stuffed her now clean washing back into her bag and went to round up the team. She found Kendo quickly, he was on his own watching TV and taking up an entire sofa. As serious as he was, the show on the big screen surprised her. She did a double take between the man and the TV.

 

“What on earth are you watching?”

 

He didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed, just shrugged and shovelled another handful of popcorn into his mouth.

 

“Kendo, you’re watching the Muppets.”

 

“That I am.”

 

Kat couldn’t help but just stare at him with her mouth slightly agape in amazement. Kendo was the serious one! He was the one that moderated Max, how could he be showing similar traits? It was simply boggling.

 

“That’s all you’re going to say? OK, not what I would have picked for you, but never mind. Can you pass on a message to the others for me? ”

 

He didn’t look away from the film he was watching, but he did nod to acknowledge he’d heard her request.

 

“Briefing in an hour, same conference room as before.”

 

“No worries Ma’am. Know where the others are, not seen Max since he went to medical though.”

 

“Less of the Ma’am, smart arse. I expect that from your partner in crime, not you. I’ll see if they’ve still got him, just make sure the others are there.”

 

Kat waited for more of a response, but after a minute guessed all she was getting was the slight nod he’d afforded her. At least it was short and sweet. It was a little disconcerting to see a highly trained specialist, from a high stress field, watching a children’s film and eating popcorn. Never mind that he was sitting there still partially wearing his combat clothing, the whole thing just too much for her mind to compute on so little sleep. The confusion stayed with her as she left the room and remained while she went to her room in search of Max.

 

 

Arriving at her door, Kat depressed the handle slowly and pushed it open as quietly as she could. She needn’t have worries, Max was exactly where she’d left him and by the look of it he hadn’t moved at all. Creeping into her room she carefully closed the door behind her and put her duffle bag on the floor. A long dormant feeling started to sneak up on her, one that Kat had almost forgotten she had ever possessed. She wanted to laugh and to have fun, she wanted to be the person she had once been all those years ago. Before necessity hardened her and turned her into the cold, calculating bitch the world now saw. She didn’t want to focus on that too much, just in case it killed the faint bubble that tried its best to rise. Kat looked back at Max on the bed, and that bubble turned into a fully fledged desire for fun and devilry. As a quick test to see just how out of it Max was, Kat whispered his name. If the pain killers were still working he wouldn’t move, if they’d warn off he’d likely come awake as aware as she. She grinned when he didn’t react at all, maybe she could actually make the idea that was forming in her head work. He did after all enjoy a joke, maybe this time he deserved to be on the other end for all the tormenting he’d seemed to enjoy at her expense. She owed him a little payback as far as she was concerned.

 

Decision made, Kat tip toed across the floor until she was by the side of the bed, leaning down she untied the laces to her boots and loosened them to slide her feet out of them and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her khaki’s to push them over her hips. Left standing in black pants and vest top, Kat gingerly lifted the edge of the blanket and lowered herself to the bed. Trying not to touch him and give away the game too soon, she lay next to him before rolling in close and pulling the blanket so that she was tucked into its warmth too. Max didn’t wake up as she’d expected, in fact he didn’t seem to register her presence at all. How was she supposed to make him question what the hell had happened when he woke up and had no recollection, if he wouldn’t wake up at all. 

 

She nudged at Max, not hard enough to try and hurt him, that really wasn’t the aim of the game this time. Kat wasn’t completely oblivious; she knew that the whole plot in itself had been a horrendously thinly veiled reason to get close to Max. Exhaustion made her weak that was the only explanation she could give. She tried to formulate a new plan as the current one, as weak as it had been, collapsed around her ears.  Kat didn’t really notice as the comfort of the bed and the heat that radiated from Max’s body started to lull her to sleep.

 

A loud knock at the door shocked Kat awake and she had absolutely no idea where she was or what was happening. She felt like she had a hangover, without even having had a drink.

 

“Ms Parker-DeWitt, are you in there? It’s Anthea, you’re late for the briefing.”

 

Kat’s eyes were wide and when realised that the warm pillow she was lying on, was actually a chest and panic stepped in. Somehow while they’d been asleep they’d managed to rearrange themselves on the bed. Instead of Max being sprawled on his front and her by his side, he was now on his back and Kat had ended up tight to his side, lying on her front and partially over his chest. When she flinched Max moved and a groan sounded in his throat, loud enough, she was sure, for it to have been heard beyond the closed door. He started to grumble next to her as he came around and in her haste to shut him up, she smacked him a little too hard as she slammed her hand over his mouth and hissed at him.

 

“Quiet!”

 

Raising her voice Kat shouted to Anthea outside the door, just thankful that she hadn’t come in.

 

“Hi, Anthea. Sorry. I’m coming! Just give me five?”

 

“Of course, thank you.”

 

Kat kept her hand in place and waited until she was sure Anthea had left. Only when she was sure did she move her gaze from the door to look at Max. He regarded her with confusion, before looking down to where her hand covered his mouth. With a slight “Oh”,  Kat removed her hand.

 

“Erm, did I miss something, Kat?”

 

“Lots I’m guessing, but we don’t have time. Come on, we need to move.”

  
“Why am I here?”

 

“Like it matters now! Come on, we’ve got to go before she comes back and sees you here.”

 

Kat jumped out of bed and dove for the duffle bag of freshly washed clothes. When she turned around again Max was staring at her.

 

“Stop looking at my arse, that’s what got us into this mess in the first place and for God’s sake will you move?”

 

Exasperated Kat huffed and muttering under her breath started to pull clothes out of the bag. Everything was wrinkled to hell but that wasn’t unusual, and she didn’t have time to do anything about it. It was just nice to be putting on fresh clothes. When she pulled out a T-Shirt that was far too big to hers, it seemed perfect and rolling her eyes she tossed it in his direction.

 

“Put your shirt on. Are you this slow all the time?”

 

“Never had that complaint before.”

 

“You know what? I’m not even going to point out what you just said, we don’t have time.”

 

Spending so much of her life in hostile situations and cramped conditions had, out of necessity, removed any sense modesty Kat may once have possessed. Without a thought she stripped down to her bra, no hint of sensuality within the movements, it was all about practicality and speed, nothing more than that. Impressively quickly she was dressed again and stuffing her feet back into her boots.

 

Despite her agitation and haste, Kat did feel a twinge of sympathy when she caught Max struggling to get his shirt on. She fought it down as much as she could, she really couldn’t afford to rediscover her softer side right now. Not just because of the meeting, the whole situation demanded her undivided attention.

 

When Kat let herself think about the topic of the meeting to come, the spark of excitement in her stomach flared into life. Whatever else happened, she knew it would all fade into insignificance as soon as work demanded it. There would be no distractions, everything beyond the elimination of Hunter Emmerson would cease to exist. The personality that made her so good at her job would descend and obliterate everything else. At that thought, a smile others had described as chilling formed on her face. There was a reason Kat had held her position so long, she was good at it and she revelled in the challenge.  

 

“Come on, we’ve got a briefing and you have to take the long way round. We’ve got shit to plan and asses to kick.”

 

He struggled to his feet and stretching slightly to test the state of his ribs, grimaced but followed her orders regardless. She cracked the door and peered into the corridor, looking up and down and listening for any sign that there were other people in their vicinity. When she could hear no one, Kat reached behind her and groped without looking. Grabbing a handful of shirt she opened the door completely and tried to drag Max towards it to shoo him out of the room. Frustratingly he resisted until she looked at him, her eyes wide and a wobble of her head asking “What?”.

 

“Are we even going to talk about this before you push me out of here?”

 

“No. Stop wasting time! Go! If I don’t show up soon, Mycroft will send Anthea back.”

 

“I’m going, but you will explain this to me at some point.”

 

“Whatever gets you cooperating. Now out and don’t say a bloody word, to anyone.”

 

Kat felt immense relief when finally he scoped out the corridor and took off in the direction of the lifts at a lazy pace that only gave a hint of the pain he must still be in. Kat shut the door and waited with her back against it. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation hit Kat then. She was a grown woman, accountable to no one but herself, acting like a damn teenager scared of getting caught with a boyfriend by a parent. Eventually she too left and hurried towards the meeting, trying to prepare for the looks and questions she was bound to get from Mycroft. If she was lucky, he might be too engrossed in the planning to wonder what she was doing. She could hope, but she’d known him for far too long to believe she could be that lucky.

 


	30. Strengthen the bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys. I was in London last weekend for Cirque du Soleil and a whistle stop tour of the Sherlock Holmes museum. Yes I was at 221b Baker Street! Unfortunately Speedy's isn't open on Sundays, but I did have a walk passed it and paid my respects to North Gower Street after dropping my case at Euston. I also got to watch August: Osage County at the Electric Cinema on Portobello Road. Seriously you have to go to this place if you get the chance. They have armchairs, beds and couches rather than cinema seating, google it it's amazing! 
> 
> Sorry back on track again. So yeah, what can I say? We're well on the way to the end of this but I hope you enjoy this new chapter. My huge thanks as always to everyone who reads, comments and leaves kudos. To my Beta MyCitrusPocket, who responds to random emails late in the evening when I have a panic attack about some detail or other that's eating at my brain and trying to drive me crazy (crazier?). I can never thank you enough.
> 
> Anyway should probably leave it there and just say, I hope you like it.

Mycroft was the first to arrive at the conference room, removing his jacket he hung it over the back of his chair. Not the most ideal of places, but it was the best option available. Rolling his shirt sleeves to his elbows, he settled himself at the table and utilised the time to go over the details to be conveyed in the briefing. Anthea bustled in shortly after, laden down with the seemingly ever present files and laptop bag. Depositing most of it on the table, she selected the thickest envelope and dropped it in Mycroft’s lap.

  
“There you go.”

 

He opened the brown envelope and took out the papers it contained. Anthea had out done herself, or at least those under her guidance had done. Details for flights, apartments and a large villa just beyond the city limits were laid out in front of him.

 

“Booked and confirmed?”

 

“Yep, all ours. I’ve managed to get month long leases on them. I don’t know how long this is going to take, but if it’s a long time we don’t want to have to try and move them halfway through. If it’s longer than that though, we’ll have to renegotiate with the rental people.”

 

Mycroft didn’t doubt that he’d made the right decision all those years ago, despite the warnings he had received not to. When he’d taken on the mouthy, intelligent, but standoffish young woman straight out of basic selection; none but he had seen the vast potential that she had held. Everyone had been convinced that she was too much of a risk and had urged that she be removed from the programme. Mycroft had argued her point and requested she be assigned to him. In the years that followed she had proven all her detractors wrong in every way possible.

 

“As ever Anthea, perfectly executed.”

 

Anthea grinned at him and gave a little curtsy and lowered her gaze to the floor, which only made Mycroft roll his eyes.

 

“As always my lord, it is my pleasure.”

 

“I worry about your sanity at times, Anthea.”

 

“Ah, but good luck convincing anyone else I’m crazy. It’s only you and our lot that suspect. Everyone else thinks I’m a paragon of professionalism and that I can’t do any wrong.”

 

“So it’s not tipping into madness, but instead devilishly calculating behaviour?”

 

“See, now there you go. I learnt from the best.”

 

Anthea continued to move around the room, getting everything in place ready for the arrival of everyone else. She placed packets of organised information similar to the one she had presented him, in front of each seat around the table. She stood for a moment just looking at the table and he could almost hear the cogs turning in her head before she nodded and returned to the seat she had selected for herself. She pulled out her laptop and began setting it up.

 

Mycroft was focused on reading through the information supplied, but when Anthea paired her laptop to the large screen on the wall and it flickered into life, it caught his attention. Displaying the same as Anthea’s laptop, an image file that made him smile appeared on the screen.

 

“Anthea?”

 

She looked at him, her raised eyebrows and eyes appearing over the top of her laptop.

  
“Hmm?”

 

Looking from her to the screen and back he indicated with his stare until she took the hint and looked too. As soon as she saw it large on the wall she smiled, her face so honest and full of emotion it was hard not to get swept up in it. The image they were both looking at was a picture Mycroft didn’t actually remember being taken. He was in it, so he’d clearly been there, but it was a relaxed, candid shot. As she was the only one not in the picture, it was easy to surmise she’d taken it during one of Molly’s dinners at the house. It showed a scene, not wholly unfamiliar, capturing a chaotic moment at some point during the evening.

 

Molly was leaning over the table, placing a steaming dish into the centre and she was looking at John who was seated opposite her. Her face gloriously expressive as she laughed unabashedly at something John must have said, something funny as he mirrored her expression of happiness. They were grinning at each other, the kind of grin that can never be convincingly faked for a posed picture. Greg was at the centre of the image, standing at the top of the table, looking directly at Anthea, a look of utter concentration on his face. Mycroft himself, stood behind Molly, a bottle of wine in one hand and a half filled glass in the other. His attention however, was completely on Sherlock who was slumped in his seat next to John, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

 

“Why that one, Anthea?”

 

She looked fondly at it for a moment longer.

 

“Because it’s us. The real us, not the parts everyone gets to see.”

 

“I do not recall that being taken. Which evening was that?”

 

Anthea was still looking at the image as she listened to Mycroft, but it was the picture that made her smile.

 

“It doesn’t matter which one it was. It could be any of them, that’s the point. It’s not just  _one_  good night, it’s all of them put together. I can look at that and it stops being still. I can see it all in my head and it starts to play like a film. I hear it all and I see it all, and it’s fantastic.”

 

“Anthea, I do believe you have the soul of an artist.”

 

“Nah, it’s just a soul, same as any other really. It’s just got something to hold on to now.”

 

For a moment they both stopped what they were doing and lost themselves in memories of the nights the photo remembered. Absent smiles graced their lips and dreamy looks spread over their faces. It was Anthea that pulled back from the memories first and she closed down the image on the laptop, making it disappear from the screen as well. Images like that were for the family only, not for the company they would be getting soon. She replaced it with the presentation file that contained the maps and details they would cover in the meeting.

 

Mycroft was so lost in his mind that he didn’t see the change in front of him. It wasn’t until the first knock came at the door that he snapped back in to focus. On being startled, he automatically reached to smooth his tie, before taking a quick look around the room and calling for the person to enter.

Kendo was the first to arrive, not that it was unusual. Kendo was always early. Unfortunately it was not a habit Max had managed to pick up over the years. It wasn’t long until a steady stream of arrivals began to descend on the room, most of them brandishing large steaming cups and sporting pillow creased faces. Mycroft watched as they dropped into seats and struggled to come back to the world of the conscious and alert. Counting the bodies around the table, Mycroft noted the absences. Max, which wasn’t unusual and Kat, which was. As the minutes ticked by he became more concerned, Kat was unerringly punctual. He realised his look of concern had caught Anthea’s attention when she made her way around the table to stand at his elbow. She didn’t speak, she just lowered her head bringing it closer to his and waited while Mycroft spoke for her ears only.

 

“Could you please see if you can locate Kat? She should be here by now and it’s unusual for her to be late. I found her sleeping in a corridor earlier, so it is probably wise to check her room.”

 

Anthea didn’t argue, with a nod she turned and with her characteristic grace and poise, exited the room. Her haste was likely evident only to him, as familiar as he was with her regular pace of her steps he couldn’t miss the increase in the rhythm of her heels on the hard floor . Mycroft wouldn’t start the meeting without Kat and Max present, given their pivotal roles he would only have to repeat himself when they each arrived. With the brief stay of execution the room remained quiet as everyone took advantage of the delay to wake up a little more.

  
  
\--------000-------

 

Molly lead Greg through the passage ways, taking that many turns he was convinced they were lost.  
  
“Molly, we should probably try and signal for help. We’re never going to find it.”  
  
She flapped her arm at him absently. Without turning her attention to him, she continued to walk ahead. She strode with purpose and made turns with surety.  
  
“Nonsense, I know exactly where I’m going.”  
  
Greg kept walking behind Molly, concerned that if he took his eyes off her for a moment he’d lose her in the maze, however, he did allow his eyes to dart around sceptically. As he noted the doors and the numbers painted on the walls, he definitely doubted the truth of her statement.

 

“Mol, we’ve been walking for fifteen minutes, and I’m pretty sure we’ve been down here before.”  
  
“Greg if you keep talking, I’m going to get annoyed. Ah ha!”  
  
She stopped so abruptly that he almost walked straight into the back of her. She was grinning as she turned around and pointed at the door she’d halted next to.  
  
“Told you I knew where I was, come on let’s see what we can find in here. I need to know if I have to get someone to go do some shopping for us.”  
  
Greg followed dutifully behind, letting Molly lead the way on their mission of discovery. He didn’t notice the details of room initially, he was too focussed on making sure Molly didn’t escape on him, but as soon as he saw there were limited doors for her to disappear through he actually managed to take in their surroundings. He found himself in the middle of a luxurious dining room, the likes of which he’d never seen before. Not above ground, and he definitely hadn’t expected to find it underground. At some point he was sure he’d stop being surprised by the things he saw, but he kept getting that “Alice down the rabbit hole” feeling.

 

Molly’s head popped back around the door she’d disappeared through. She took one look at his face and laughed, realising that she must have had that same look of wonder on her face when she had first found it too. Luckily for her though, there hadn’t been anyone around to see when she’d looked like that.

   
“I know right? This place is amazing. Wait ‘til you see the kitchen, it’s awesome.”  
  
At her excited beckoning Greg looked around the room with one last disbelieving shake of his head and followed her through swinging doors. Once more he was dumbstruck, she’d been right it was like something out of a five star restaurant.  
  
“Wow.”  
  
Molly just laughed at Greg’s amazement and left him gawking at the shining kitchen. Spotting two large stainless steel doors that looked to be the likeliest candidates for walk in fridge and freezer, Molly scuttled over to them and mentally crossing her fingers, hoped that she wasn’t wrong and there would be supplies available. Pulling at the handle of the left hand door, it opened with a click and swung towards her easily. Peering inside, Molly let out a celebratory whoop and disappeared into the cold room. It was the fridge and it was full. Not long after she’d entered the refrigerated store, Greg appeared in the doorway.  
  
“Doesn’t it freak you out that this place seems to have everything we need?”  
  
“I’m getting used to it, I think. With My and Anthea in charge, I don’t suppose anything should surprise us anymore though.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess. I’m still not used to it. Seeing little bits every day is one thing, seeing the scale of it all here? Completely different.”

“Won’t be long and we’ll be back to standing in front of our own fridges. And unless we fill them, they’ll be empty. So might as well enjoy it while it lasts.”  
  
As Molly scanned the shelving units, cataloguing what was available and trying to narrow down the recipe options that popped into her head, Greg waited by the door leaning on the frame with his arms crossed over his chest against the chill.  
  
“Good point. Though when my fridge is empty I tend to come to yours rather than go shopping. At a push you've got Mrs Heatheridge.”  
  
“She's a lovely woman, really she is, but it does take some getting used to. It's weird, she doesn't come so often anymore, I don't want her out of a job, that's the last thing I want, but it's strange. I feel guilty having a woman older than my mum would have been, running around after us. I've managed to convince her that she only needs to come a couple of times a week, and even then I make sure everything is sorted so she doesn't have to do too much. She's like the furniture and I'm not going to chase her away. She's spent years making sure My’s ok, like Mr Hudson does for Sherlock and John. It's like inheriting relatives. Oh and don’t think I hadn't noticed, you all turning up like lost sheep when it's been a busy week. I’m not daft you know? But you’re all welcome anyway so it doesn’t matter. Anthea’s generally at ours anyway if they bring work back and I always hear when it’s been a bad week for any of you. There’s a reason you all have your own rooms and stuff at the house, I enjoy the company anyway. What do you fancy to eat?”  
  
Greg moved his attention from Molly to the shelves. He looked for inspiration, but he wasn’t as good a cook as she was. Molly was the best cook he knew and she actually found joy in pottering around the kitchen. The rest of them cooked because they had to, Molly cooked because she liked to, and it wasn’t as though she had any more time than the rest of them. She actually found it relaxing after a long day. Greg had asked her once, he’d been feeling guilty that she always seemed to be the one cooking. She’d been honestly adamant that she really did find it calming and fulfilling being able to feed them all. That is satisfied the part of her that needed to take care of people. There’d been no doubt that Molly was speaking the truth, but they did try to help whenever they went over. He was sure anywhere else and with any other group of people, tensions would rise at spending quite so much time together. Generally they spent time together at least a few times a week. Maybe not always everyone at the same time, but they tended to drop in if they were nearby and keep each other company. They relished in the chance to actually enjoy being part of a family. None of them really had anyone outside of their close group and had been adrift for a long time. Essentially they were orphans who had gathered together a family of their own, and they held onto that with determination.  
  
“Mol, you know us, we’ll eat anything you make. It’s all fantastic.”  
  
Molly bit her top lip and sucked air through her teeth, pondering the options as she took another look around her.  
  
“Watch out, I need to see what’s in the freezer. There’s no meat here and I’ve got an idea. Oh and staples. I need staples. Can you see if you can find flour, yeast and stuff for me while I look next door?”  
  
“Yep, no worries.”  
  
As Molly opened the other door and shivered as she entered the frigid room, Greg went in search of the items she’d asked for. Luckily he found them quickly and piling them into his arms, carried them back to the big preparation table at the front of the room that sat next to a gleaming coffee machine. It really was a strange place, like a large restaurant, only not somehow.  
  
With a triumphant call, Molly emerged from the freezer brandishing a large packet over her head.  
  
“How does slow cooked beef stew, with rosemary and garlic bread sound?”  
  
Greg stopped looking around the room and looked to Molly instead. Hope in distracted eyes that glazed over a little.  
  
“Sounds absolutely fantastic. Is it ready yet?”  
  
“It will be if you help.”  
  
 Molly was walking around Greg and pushing up her sleeves as she went.  
  
“You sure everything you need is here?”  
  
Molly stood in front of a microwave, placing the frozen meat inside she set it to defrost before nodding to herself and heading back towards him.  
  
“Yep, saw it all in the fridge and you found the things I need for the bread. So I'd say we are good to go. Come on, I need you to carry things for me.”  
  
Dutifully Greg followed behind Molly. He wanted to be useful and if that meant fetching and carrying? Then so be it. It was definitely better than sitting doing nothing and feeling useless. So he followed like a lost sheep and prepared to be Molly’s pack mule. By the time he joined her in the fridge she was already gleefully pulling things down from the shelves to the point she was struggling not to drop them. Greg didn't know if Molly even knew he was there, she was completely focused on finding the things she wanted with little exclamations of glee. When he started plucking the things from her arms she just went about gathering more items with both hands and pushing them towards Greg, the pile of ingredients he held grew by the second. They were spilling over his arms and the stacks reached for his chin in uneven and unsteady piles that meant he had to lean back slightly to stop them tumbling to the floor.  
  
“Erm, Molly? How many you cooking for?”  
  
“Well I can't cook for everyone, because I don't know how many there are in this place. But I can make plenty for us and Kat and well, enough for anyone else to eat too I suppose. I feel guilty just making it for us.”  
  
“I'm pretty sure no one is going to go hungry.”  
  
“Not the point. You now I tend to cook enough for an army rather than the six of us.”  
  
“Fair enough, carry on then.”  
  
Molly stood in front of Greg, arms crossed over her chest, her focus was so intent that Greg felt like shifting uncomfortably underneath her gaze. Apparently she was happy enough as she nodded and walked passed him, leaving him standing in the fridge on his own, looking more than a little bewildered.  
  
“Greg, you coming or what? We've got chopping to do!”  
  
Greg couldn't help but laugh at that, it's a good job he really didn't mind following the instructions of a small group of people without question. He was still smiling when he leisurely left the freezer and was met by Molly with a questioning look on her face and a rather large knife in her hand.

  
\--------000-------

 

 

Max sauntered in to the meeting room unapologetically late and he'd clearly delayed his attendance further by stopping for coffee on his way. Mycroft watched him enter from beneath his brows, observing the casual manner of his arrival. However, something wasn't quite right, though Mycroft couldn't quite it his finger on it. It would be easy to attribute the sense that something was wrong, to the stiffness in the way Max walked, but that wasn't enough. No, there was something else. Something he was hiding even more than just how much pain he was experiencing. Mycroft pushed it aside, his mind was on high alert as it was, through years of necessity he automatically searched everything around him for problems. He made the conscious decision to dwell on it no longer.  
  
“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to visit us, Max.”  
  
“Sorry boss, the docs gave me some real nice pills, knocked me out for the count. Ms Anthea found me getting coffee, she sent a message though. Ms Parker-DeWitt is on her way and that you were right. No idea what she’s on about, but figured it probably makes sense to you.”  
  
Mycroft watched as Max lowered himself into the empty seat next to Kendo and as soon as he was settled they bumped fists in greeting. With a series of nods, head tilts and eyebrows lifts, he observed a whole conversation between them regarding Max’s condition. Apparently they were both content with the situation, the information garnered from their unconventional communication all that was required. Their movements were neigh on synchronised as they sipped at paper coffee cups and sifted through the packets Anthea had left for each of them. Occasionally one of them would frown, nudge the other and then point at something that caught their attention. They did speak, but their voices were quiet and after they exchanged a few sentences Kendo would make a note in the margins of circle something they deemed important. Mycroft knew that they would voice their concerns or make their point be known when they reached the appropriate point of the meeting. While the rest of the men around the table also prepared, they stayed silent and insular as they did so. Mycroft knew asking them to work together under the circumstances was a big ask, but he knew once they all arrived in Chile, there would be a certain amount of time for them to further work out the dynamics and most advantageous partnerships that would benefit the mission at hand. The manner in which they had gone about the retrieval of the virus suggested that they would have no problems acclimatising to working as part of a team, or at least not this team. They were each of equal standing, though they specialised in something different, their strengths complemented each other.  
  
Eventually Kat arrived, looking a little more rested than she had when he found her not so long ago, and that appeased him somewhat. He pinned her with his gaze and looked her over from head to toe as she manoeuvred her way around the table to take the seat next to him. He leant in her direction to speak low enough so that only she could hear him.  
  
“I should be annoyed, however, all I actually wish to know is did you manage to find a comfortable place to sleep this time?”  
  
Kat didn't look at him, instead busying herself following the suit of each of the others at the table in flicking through the supplied information.  
  
“Yes thanks, as you are aware the beds here are more than adequate.”  
  
Kat tried not to pay any attention to the images that flashed in her head. Yes, the bed had been comfy, the body next to her though had been better. Kat relied on years of conditioning to keep all outward signs of how flustered the thoughts made her under control. When no further mention was made, Kat sighed inwardly in relief. It was a good job Mycroft was distracted, ordinarily he would never miss something that threw her off, even only slightly. When he shifted his attention from her Kat relaxed enough to actually read what was in front of her.  
  
The only person now not in the room was Anthea and she would return soon enough, as she knew the information about to be related in more depth than he likely did himself, there was no reason to wait for her any longer. Mycroft stood from his seat and began to walk around the table, heading for Anthea’s laptop to pull up the relevant map from her prepared material. When he reached the back of Max’s chair, Mycroft came to an abrupt halt. Something had caught his attention and caused him to a stop. Though his subconscious had clearly noticed something and demanded he pay attention, that was the only information it provided.  
  
Kat watched Mycroft stop right behind Max and pause. Immediately she was on alert, watching and waiting for whatever was going to come next. It was a moment before she watched him take a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he did so, then his eyes flicked to her as a questioning look took over his features. Kat knew Mycroft's tricks and stayed completely passive under his scrutiny. It may have been her guilty conscience, but she reacted as she had trained herself over the years; physically withdrawing all emotion from the surface and presenting a completely blank canvas to any observer. I was something she’d taught herself to do no matter the situation, and no matter how much stress she was under. If she could do that whilst being strenuously questioned she could sure as hell do it now.  
  
Mycroft didn't know exactly what was going on, but by no means was he a stupid man. There was something happening underneath his nose, he’d seen something amiss, and now his sense of smell was trying to trigger something in his mind. Kat was avoiding disclosing something to him, that much was plain to see. She’d pulled back, thinking he wouldn't notice, but he did and it only made him more curious. He didn't have the time to work out the puzzle at the moment, other more pressing matters demanded his attention, but he definitely wasn’t going to forget about it. The time would come later for him to mull it over.  
  
Setting his feet to motion once more, Mycroft returned to the task at hand. Reaching Anthea's laptop he set the presentation in progress, he needed only to select the first image as he was confident that Anthea would return in time to regain control. He glanced up once to make sure the map was the one he required before moving back to his seat.  
  
As soon as he sat down, the strange feeling that had pestered him seemed to be solved with almost an eureka moment. Schooling his features Mycroft leant towards Kat, turning his face from the centre of the room he spoke only for her to hear him.  
  
“Katharina, that is quite a distinctive fabric conditioner.”  
  
She stilled completely and looked dead ahead of her, not acknowledging Mycroft as having spoken at all.  
  
“No explanations? Excuses, Kat?”  
  
Mycroft knew he was goading her, he truly couldn't resist himself. Her discomfort did however give him hope. He had been honestly concerned about her state of mind after learning of Hunter’s deception. Despite what they did, they were still in possession of emotions. She still resolutely refused to look at him, though she finally decided to respond. Her voice was light and had melodic quality that was downright terrifying.  
  
“Fuck you, Mycroft.”  
  
With his lips twitching and trying to control his breathing to quell the laugh that threatened to escape, Mycroft turned to give his attention back to the room.  
  
“Gentlemen, Kat. To business shall we?”

  
  
\--------000-------

 

With Sherlock pressed to his side, John allowed himself to doze. He didn’t sleep deeply though, he was far too hyper vigilant; attuned to every movement Sherlock made, be it in distress or not. With his eyes closed in the dim and quiet room, his mind hovered on the brink of dreaming, with images flashing behind his lowered lids. John’s body was relaxed and his breathing slow and even, but it just served to highlight how strained Sherlock’s own efforts were. John could feel the juddering that accompanied every inhale and exhale his congested lungs struggled for. While Sherlock slept his body was relaxed enough that his coughing was minimal and not enough to wake him from his much needed sleep; when he started to move into wakefulness that changed. Jon snapped awake as Sherlock’s coughing started to become more insistent.  He was still asleep, oblivious to the shallow coughs that emerged with each breath.  
  
When Sherlock began to stir, John heard the change it had on his breathing. Even though he remained asleep as soon as he started to cough with more fervour he wouldn't stay that way for long. They started as singular coughs, shallow and none too alarming. Before John could angle the bed so that they sat at a steeper angle, Sherlock came awake with a great heaving cough that shook his whole body, bending his body almost doubly with the violence of it. He struggled blindly to sit, his hands pushing heavily at the first surface they encountered, which happened to be John’s chest. As he forced himself to sitting the coughing got worse, almost constant barks of outward breath now he tried to move. He hunched over cradling his ribs and stomach as John watched as Sherlock’s back and rib age expanded alarmingly contracting to force the breath from his body in explosive gusts. Still the coughs came, giving Sherlock no break in between his body so lost in trying to expel the liquid on his lungs that it seemed to forget it needed the inward breaths to survive. Even as a doctor, John couldn't quite quell the fear that tried to grip at him. Quickly he untied Sherlock’s hospital gown and pushed it down his arms, gripping the blankets that covered them, John dragged them from the bed and discarded them to fall where they would. With all the effort Sherlock’s body exerting p he was quickly over heating and that would only make matters worse and elongate the fit that currently had Sherlock firmly in its grasp. He was so lost in trying to regain control of his body, Sherlock was almost oblivious to anything around him. He was rocking back and forth as John quickly got off the bed and hurried around to Sherlock’s side of the bed and snatched up the oxygen mask that hung behind it. The cannula’s that had been beneath his nostrils had fallen and way as Sherlock clawed at his face as though there was something covering it that limited his breathing. John grasped Sherlock’s hand and dragged it away from his mouth and pressed then mask in its place. Sherlock looked at him then, face red and angry as tears streamed down his face. One eye blood red and the other blood shot, both pleading with John for help as his body defied him at every turn.  
  
John stroked his hand gently up and down Sherlock’s back and made soothing noises while he held the mask in place.  
  
“It's alright Sherlock, you're ok. Calm down, you're too hot. I know it's hard but you need to try and relax enough to breathe the oxygen. Don't glare at me, I know it's hard. I really do.”  
  
Sherlock tried to maintain eye contact with John and eventually he started to relax and as the tension started to leave him the coughing began to abate. Short gaps appeared between the coughs allowing Sherlock to pull in much needed oxygen, and those few breaths only made it easier to control his body so that he could take more. Gradually they subsided completely, though his breath still rasped angrily in the otherwise quiet room. He panted as though he’d been running hard, and was slumped over as though all his energy had been sapped from him. When his breathing was back to as normal as it could, Sherlock fell back against the raised bed with a groan. John moved with him, still keeping the oxygen mask in place for just a little bit longer until he could reset the breathing tubes beneath his nose.  
  
“How you doing, love?”  
  
“Hurts.”  
  
His voice was horse and pained, he sounded pitiful and small. With a little whimper Sherlock tried to lever himself onto his side slightly to face John more completely.  
  
“Don't move too quickly, you'll set it off again.”  
  
Sherlock had always been a pro at turning on his puppy dog eyes when he wanted something, but there was no way to see anything but the absolute truth in Sherlock’s face,  
  
“Make it stop.”  
  
John started to stroke Sherlock’s hair, his fingers tender as they delegated the strange. Leaning down he touched his lips to his forehead.  
  
“I would if I could, love.”  
  
Slowly John removed the oxygen mask from Sherlock’s face. His breathing was a little better than it had been, but John cold still hear the rattle of his chest that made him sound like a large cat purring on the bed, albeit one that was not purring out of contentment. The bubbling sounds see something John never wanted to hear again. While Sherlock’s head lolled against the raised mattress, John held him steady as he slid the oxygen cannula back in place, making sure the nozzles were perfectly placed. Satisfied with their placing he tucked the tubes behind his ears to secure them in place, he then used his fingers to smooth Sherlock’s errant curls, pushing them back behind his ears as well.  
  
Satisfied that everything was staying put, John picked up a beaker of water from the top of the bedside cabinet. Holding the straw steady he guided it to Sherlock’s lips.  
  
“Sherlock? Here have a few sips of this. Slowly and just a bit at a time.”  
  
He held the cup in place and waited while Sherlock actually followed his instructions for a change. John watched Sherlock’s Adam's apple bobbed with each sluggish swallow. Eventually the motions stopped and the straw fell from between his lips. Right in front of John's eyes Sherlock seemed to deflate, he relaxed completely. Muscles suddenly losing all their tension and he appeared to melt in to the bed. If he hadn't been able to see and hear his breathing, John was sure he would have panicked. Instead he took it as a good sign. Sherlock needed as much sleep as he was able to get, at least like this he was relatively easy to keep still. The time would come through when he was well enough to get bored, and that would be when John’s patience was truly tested to the limit. John had the feeling that nothing he'd had to deal with so far was even going to nearly compete with the storm that was coming.  
  
Placing the cup back where it had come from with a sign. John started to pull up one of the chairs to return to his bedside vigil once more. He hadn't even managed to get his arse in the seat before one demonic looking eye opened and zoomed in on him.  
  
“No.”  
  
John looked around confused. He couldn't see anything that was necessarily wrong. He met Sherlock’s one open eye and shrugged trying to work out what Sherlock meant.  
  
“No what? What do you need?”  
  
“Come back.”  
  
“Sherlock, I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here.”  
  
That was clearly not what Sherlock meant, his displeasure quickly becoming known when he screwed his face up in anger and frustration at John’s apparent slowness.  
  
“No! Here!”  
  
John understood then, Sherlock’s hand was trying to tap against the mattress at his side. Even as he ran out of energy and his words slurred he refused to give into the desire to sleep that crept up his body. Not until he had John right where he wanted him. John didn't have the heart to argue with Sherlock while he looked so pathetically sorry for himself.  
  
“Alright you win. Stay still, I'll fit around you.”  
  
He couldn't even pretend to be annoyed.  Worried certainly, but nothing else. There was no way John could deny that by Sherlock’s side was the only place he wanted to be.

                                                         --------000-------  
  
  
Mycroft was quite surprised at how painless the briefing was. All eyes had focused on him as soon as he had requested it, and it had stayed on him as they had absorbed all the details he had to impart upon them. Anthea had indeed returned quickly, resuming her position and control over the visual portion of presentation. Visual aids always helped explain things so much more easily and provided a point of reference. This was probably the last chance he would have to gather them all in one place and iron out as many of the details as possible.  
  
It all flowed seamlessly with Mycroft supplying the accumulated data in a quick and efficient manner. He wasted no time with the nonessential minutiae that would only obscure the relevant portions. To someone not used to the proceedings taking place it may have seemed cold and detached, but they wouldn't have been able to say that they were left wanting because of the presentational style. Once Mycroft had monologued the initial burst of information, things were free to move at a more conversational pace. Thoughtful and pertinent questions had been posed and answered, with as much certainty as was possible given the incomplete picture they currently worked with.  
  
While everyone acknowledged that they were moving quickly, perhaps a little quicker than was wise given their target, there were no objections to the mounting of the mission. As precarious as it all seemed on paper, they were all experienced enough to know that they were unlikely to find it improved should they wait. These people gathered before him were not new recruits wet behind the ears. They were the best, they revelled in these situations and thrived under adverse conditions. Any delay may only serve to make their position more vulnerable. Hesitation could allow time for a weakness in their operation to exert its influence and alert Hunter to their intentions. Mycroft trusted the people he had gathered in the bunker, though with every detail that needed to be planned, every inclusion of outside resources, there was always the chance that someone less trustworthy would compromise everything and that made him somewhat nervous.  
  
With the meeting drawing to a close, Mycroft stood in front of the original map of Santiago with his hands clasped behind his back. The image behind him was now marred by circle and lines added by Anthea. During the discussion she had highlighted the locations as Mycroft had spoken of them, making it easier for the team to fill in the maps in their heads.  
  
After he finished talking, Mycroft remained where he was. Slowly he cycled his gaze around the table, looking to each of them and making eye contact with them to make sure they had no further questions. They absorbed the details given and he knew they would study the files provided over and over. There would be nothing within those pages that they didn't have memorised and filed away for future use. As a comfortable silence fell over the room, it seemed that the nervous energy that had been prevalent was being replaced with an anticipatory crackle of excitement. Wishing he could have provided more information didn't seem to dampen anyone's desire to begin. He might have wished for more time and more information, but then he would always want a more complete picture. It was part of his nature, the weight he carried on his shoulders, the responsibilities he forced on himself both real and imagined weighed heavily on him. He may night always recognise it, but it was always there.  
  
Lastly Mycroft looked to Kat, refusing to acknowledge that it was her approval he sought. No matter how secure he was, he had long ago accepted that her opinion of him mattered where few else did. No one else would notice the exchange that took place between them. There would be no grand displays of emotion or sentiment in pulling but barely perceptible nod told him all he needed. She would follow his direction, the plans made enough to satisfy her desire for closure. While it relieved him to know she wouldn't be endangering herself unnecessarily by acting on her own, it didn't help dissipate the tightness that had settled in his stomach. Facing such a spectre from their past made him feel as though they should be doing so side by side. While she raced across the world to strike the killing blow to their mutual foe, he must stay where he was, direct from afar and protect the home. It had been a considerable time since he had been completely active in the field, through choice not necessity. That did not however quell the desire that nudged at the corners of his mind, tastes of excitement and anticipation mingling into a heady reminder of how things had once been. It sat unsettled next to unfounded guilt at sending Kat to face Hunter alone. He knew, more than knew she was capable. There were no doubts in his head or heart about that, it just felt as though he was taking the easy way out.  
  
Mycroft realised he had been silent too long when he noticed the questioning looks that greeted him. Chastising himself for the slip in concentration, Mycroft allowed a slight smile to cross his face.  
  
“So, unless anyone has anything further to add? We have our plan. Barring the arrival of any further information that would force modification to that which we have discussed around this table, we proceed. Kat, Max, Kendo as you leave in a little over twenty four hours, your papers will be available within the hour.”  
  
Mycroft looked to Anthea to confirm this as fact, he could have rolled his eyes when she wasn't looking at him in order to see he was asking her a question. It took him rapping on the table with his knuckles to have her raising her head. The look on her face spoke volumes, mainly “can you not see I'm busy?” But she quickly nodded and responded, proving that even though she was busy she had been listening to him enough to know what he had asked.  
  
“Yes, the first three will be delivered straight to your hands. They've been eyes only, so the details are only known by a few, very trusted people. I've included everything we could think of for your back story, if there's anything in there that just doesn't feel right, let me know and I can change it. I'll get them to you in plenty of time for you to learn who you are going to be.”  
  
With an incline of his head he thanked her and she quickly went back to whatever it was that held her attention.  
  
“Until the first flights begin departing, I suggest you take the time until your respective flights to the hard and prepare however you see fit. Should you require anything, simply ask and it shall be provided. Now I believe we all have somewhere we would rather be than in this stuffy room, reiterating the same information time and time again. So I leave you to your preparations. Kat, gentlemen, good day.”  
  
Mycroft gathered only the belongings and paper work he would require immediately, Anthea would bring the rest of them with her when she joined him. Collecting his suit jacket from the back of his chair, he hung it over his arm and left the room. The meeting had not taken as long as he had thought it might and that actually brought him hope. Perhaps he didn't need to worry about leaving Molly waiting. Many things still called for his attention, matters that only he could resolve.  
  
He may have diverted his attention to the solving of this one issue, however, there were still items from his usual work that required his input. Certain things could not be delegated to others for managing after all, and papers needed to be signed. He also had to provide an update on the current situation. All men had to be accountable to someone, even if he did enjoy a vast amount of freedom and autonomy, he had an old friend to update.

 

 


	31. Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter one this time and a little late. Sorry about that, but life was determined to get in the way. I hope you like it. 
> 
> Thank you to every person to reads, comments, leaves kudos or subscribes. Each and every one is greatly appreciated and really does help when I'm struggling to write.
> 
> Thank you as always to MyCitrusPocket for her unfaltering support and help with everything. I honestly think I'd have given up by now if it wasn't for her.

John didn’t feel much like sleeping, not right now at least. Apparently Sherlock and he had switched stances on that for the time being. That thought alone had John’s lips rising into a slight smile. He’d had time to think while Sherlock slept and he fulfilled his role as body pillow admirably. He’d used the time wisely, letting his thoughts form plans and the longer he’d had, the more those plans had taken on a life of their own. John reached the point where thinking about them ceased to be helpful. He had things he needed to do and conversations he needed to have, none of which could be done from the hospital bed. Despite that, John didn’t want Sherlock to wake up alone and find him gone. Normally that wouldn’t be a concern and it wouldn’t have occurred to him that he needed to worry about it, but right now Sherlock was far from his usual self. Being sick had shaken Sherlock and as a result he was more uncertain and clingy when it came to John’s presence. If he were to wake up and find John gone, who knew how he might react and John wanted to avoid adding to the stress he was under.

 

It was good to see Sherlock sleep, but by no stretch of the means was it a peaceful sleep. He was constantly restless and shifted in his sleep time and time again. John had tried to give him space, edging gradually further away, thinking perhaps it was his presence in the small bed that was making the situation more uncomfortable. However, when Sherlock had made an attempt at a whimper in his sleep and moved as John had to cross the gap between them, John knew it was a lost cause. Sherlock ended up pressing them closer than they had originally been and John new the battle was lost.

 

Sherlock’s sleep continued but his restlessness increased as he constantly fidgeted against John’s side. It was that which cemented John’s resolve. He needed Sherlock to sleep in order to heal and he needed to be in the best environment for that to happen. Looking around the goldfish bowl setting in which they currently resided, John knew he needed to change that. He needed to speak to Sherlock’s doctor and with the rest of their family unit, John knew that he would be able to satisfy them that his plan was valid. As long as Sherlock continued to progress as he was, even given that it was only early days, John knew it was only a matter of time before Sherlock’s weakened state ceased to act in their favour. So long as John could keep him occupied they might be able to prevent Sherlock being the biggest obstacle to his recovery, if he got bored it was very probable that he could even set back any headway made.

 

Decisions made, John just needed to figure out a way of extricating himself from Sherlock’s clutches for the short amount of time he needed to get the ball rolling. He knew from experience though that it wasn’t an easy thing to do. Even in the deepest of sleep, Sherlock’s grasp and seemingly unending number of limbs kept John exactly where he wanted him.

 

“Sherlock? Love? I need you to wake up a bit, just for a little while and let me get up. Just for a little while and I’ll be back soon, but I need you to let me out.”

 

In response he received only a hum and an undecipherable mumble, and rather than letting John go the complete opposite happened. When he was held impossibly tighter, John knew he wasn’t going to get any further with that method of release. If Sherlock didn’t wake up the first time John spoke to him, it just wasn’t going to happen at all. Sherlock’s sleeping style was anything but normal, he was either hovering in the no man’s land between the waking world and sleep where the slightest noise would wake him, or he was so deeply asleep that a bomb could go off and he wouldn’t move. Unfortunately, John knew that was true through experience.

 

With Sherlock wrapped around him as he was, John had to access his inner contortionist and magician and with a rather impressive twist, wiggle, slide and roll, John spilled from the bed with an ease that suggested it was not the first time he had performed the manoeuvre. John hit the floor hard and at a slight angle that had him wincing and furiously rubbing at his arse cheek as he rolled to one side. He bit the inside of his cheek to hold in the expletives that threatened to make themselves known. Getting to his feet wasn’t as quick as it might have been, but john put it down to fatigue rather than age. Especially since he clearly hadn’t put much thought into just how big the drop would be from the bed to the floor, it wasn’t that much of a drop at home.

 

Putting aside the throbbing ache in his arse cheek, John walked it off as he went in search of a pen and something to write on. If Sherlock did wake up while he was gone, John wanted to leave a note that would explain his absence. He wrote the note quickly, Sherlock didn’t need paged of explanation, just enough to ease his mind. John folded the piece of paper in half and made sure to write Sherlock in large letter on the front. Placing it on the bedside table he leant it against a tumbler of water so that it stood up in what would be Sherlock’s direct line of sight so long as he didn’t roll over. Satisfied that it would be enough, John hurried out of the room.

 

\--------OOO-------- 

 

It took one phone call for Anthea to locate Greg and Molly. Armed with their location and a strong desire to see Greg, she took off in their direction quickly with the clicking of her heels following her down the corridor. She could hear laughter and faint music bouncing off the walls and getting louder as she got closer to the kitchen where she knew she’d find them. The laughter faded to murmuring, but Anthea could hear the voices switching back and forth in conversation and there was no mistaking the tones for anyone but the people she sought. Anthea lightened her steps as she got closer, tiptoeing to silence her approach as much as possible. Quietly she entered the dining room and for the first time she caught actually words rather than just the sounds of their voices. Staying close to the wall on the right of the door, she crept around the room making sure to stay out of line of sight of the kitchen door as she inched closer. Eventually she stood waiting with her back to the wall to the right hand side of the kitchen door. Tilting her head back she rested it against the wallpaper and closed her eyes for a moment, just listening to the sounds and breathing in the delicious smells coming from inside. If she just let her mind wander she could imagine she was back in Molly and Mycroft’s kitchen and everything that had happened was just a horrendous nightmare. It was a voice right next to her ear that started her into action, her arm automatically lashed out in defence. Luckily this wasn’t the first time Greg had startled Anthea when she was daydreaming and he effortlessly caught her clenched fist, completely encompassing it with his hand before she managed to connect it with his skin.   

 

“Just me, Anth. Wondered how long you were going to stay out here on your own?”

  
Anthea visibly relaxed when she realised it was Greg by her side. She unclenched her fist and pulled it from his so she could cup his face softly with both her hands.

 

“I was just listening and thinking for a minute. How’d you know I was here anyway?”

 

Greg leant forwards slightly, closing the distance between them and dropped a quick kiss on her lips.

  
“I always know, and eavesdropping will get you in trouble.”

 

“Eavesdropping, amongst other things, is what pays the bills.”

 

With his face still close to Anthea’s, Greg rubbed their noses together, smiled and nodded. Unable to resist he stole one more kiss.

  
“You coming? You might have more luck with Molly. She made cake!”

 

Greg’s voice turned slightly desperate and whiney and Anthea knew exactly what that meant. Her face broke into a knowing grin.

 

“What you mean is that Molly made cake and won’t let you have any yet.”

 

“Well, maybe. But please make her let me have some. She wouldn’t even let me lick the bowl!”

 

Dropping her hands to lie flat against Greg’s chest through his T-shirt, Anthea patted them both against his pectorals.

 

“I worry about you sometimes.”

 

She stepped around him, sliding her right hand across his chest and around his shoulder as she passed. Anthea changed her voice to an exaggerated whisper, so exaggerated a whisper in fact, that rather than decrease her volume she spoke louder than she had been before, loudly hissing quite distinctly and all while standing in the actual doorway to the kitchen.

  
“Don’t look so devastated, I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Greg’s features flattened, his face completely blank until he slid a petulant look at Anthea as a shout came from inside the room.

 

“Greg! Not even Anthea is getting you a slice of that cake. So don’t even bother.”

 

Anthea just about collapsed laughing. She released him with one last pat on the back as she walked through the door. Turning his head, Greg watched her go but not before making one more comment.

 

“Traitor!”

 

Her only response was to laugh harder, but otherwise ignore his dramatics. Greg stayed outside the kitchen a minute longer, mourning the slice of cake he wasn’t allowed and listened to Anthea and Molly inside.

 

“Hey, Mols. How you doing, honey?”

 

When Anthea came through the door Molly stood up from one of the chairs either Greg or she had brought through from the dining room and clustered around a counter that was a little too tall to be a table, but they’d made it work. Coffee cups and crumbs littered the surface as well as Greg’s phone which played the music she’d been able to hear as she approached. Now she was surrounded by familiar sights, sounds and smells, Anthea realised that somehow Greg and Molly had managed to make this anything but comfortable location feel as much like home as possible.

 

Molly met Anthea halfway between the door and the counter and pulled her into a tight hug. Neither of them paid any attention as Greg slinked back into the room. Pulling back, Molly kept her hands on Anthea’s arms.

 

“Do you want a coffee or something to eat, A?”

 

Without turning around Molly spoke to Greg again. As she did so she smiled devilishly at Anthea. Her voice was light but laden with promise.  
  
“I swear to God, Greg. If you even think about trying to touch that cake, there will be trouble, Mr.”

 

“Molly Hooper, I am a Detective Inspector and an adult, and you’re. Well, you’re speaking to me the way you speak to… Sherlock!”

 

Molly and Anthea could hardly contain themselves. Greg’s voice was indignant and a little put out, but they both know it’s just because he got caught. He’s always the same. Molly responded to his outburst in the usual tone she used when dealing with grown men that weren’t acting like it.

 

“Stop acting like him and I won’t. Instead of moping, how about you use your new found talents with the coffee machine and get your better half a drink?”

 

Looking at the pair of them, Greg couldn’t maintain his exaggerated outrage. Seeing them both laughing was what mattered and Greg considered his mission complete. Though he did still really want cake, but that could wait. Without further complaint, he did indeed utilise his newly discovered mastery and proceeded to bump and bang his way through the preparation of a couple more drinks.

 

Molly pushed Anthea into the seat she had vacated with a pointed finger and instruction to “stay”. Anthea did much the same as Greg and did as she was told. Molly was in her “Mum” mode and neither of them would be the one to mention it and have Molly change.

 

As soon as she pushed Anthea into the chair, Molly ran through to the dining room to grab another for herself. Unceremoniously she dragged it through to the kitchen, the wooden legs sounding like nails on a chalk board that had all of them shuddering. Molly set it at the end of the row so that when Greg returned, it would leave them bracketing Anthea.

 

It wasn’t long until they were all seated together, fresh steaming cups warming their hands and the scent of good coffee swirling around their heads. Anthea took a deep breath through her nose, drawing it all in before letting out an almost indecent groan.

 

“Mols, I don’t even know what kind of magic you’ve got going on here, but whatever’s cooking smells divine. You’ve no idea how glad I am we’re actually going to be able to eat it.”

 

Greg and Molly’s faces lit up at the news. Clearly thrilled by the news they hadn’t wanted to ask for, just in case. Molly was the first one to burst, her face shining with happiness.   
  
“You can both come? Really?”

 

Anthea was glad she’d come with the news herself rather than calling or even sending someone else. If she had, she’d have missed this. She took a sip from her mug and groaned again before putting her mug on the counter. Sitting back she lay her hand on Greg’s knee, where he quickly covered it with his own.

 

“Yep both of us, and on schedule too. Greg, we’re definitely getting a coffee machine for home if you can make coffee like this.”

 

Greg grabbed her chair by the leg closest to hand and dragged her closer to him, smiling at the high pitched squeal she made at the movement. When she was close enough for him to be happy, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she leant in close, leaning her back to his chest and twisting slightly so she was still facing Molly.

  
“Anything you want, love. How long can you stay?”

 

Anthea grabbed Greg’s wrist to check his watch before answering.

 

“Long enough for coffee, but we won’t have to rush off after dinner.”

 

Anthea saw the same looks of happiness pass over their faces even though they tried not to let it show. The nature of Mycroft and her work meant that plans often had to change and leave them waiting. They never judged and never held a grudge when that happened and never would, but they were cautious about getting too excited just in case.

 

“I really mean it! When we come for dinner, we’ll have about twelve or so hours until there’s anything more we can do. Everything that can be done in the UK is finished for now and we don’t start the next phase until tomorrow afternoon. So yeah, we’re free.”

 

Anthea picked up her mug again and blew gently over the surface, waiting for it to cool before she took another drink.

 

“You’ll make sure Mycroft gets some sleep, Mols? It’s the eye of the storm on the way right now and we need him at the top of his game when the next wave comes.”

 

Anthea and Molly shared an important moment of eye contact. It left Anthea with no doubt that Molly understood everything and she didn’t need to say anything else.

 

A phone started to ring and though they all reacted to the sound, none of them went to answer it. Instead they looked between each other, all three of them expecting one of the others to pick it up, sure that it wasn’t theirs.

 

“Mol, I think it’s you?”

 

She looked confused for a little longer and then panicked as she patted each of her pockets frantically. Trying to find it quickly before it stopped ringing, when she finally freed it and answered the call she was a little breathless.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Molly, that you?”

 

“John? Yeah, sorry it took me so long to answer, I’ve never heard this thing ring before.”

 

“I’m just glad I got you. I had to get your number from Mark.”

 

At the mention of Sherlock’s doctor, the bottom fell out of Molly’s stomach.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

The panic must have been clear in her voice because John was quick to respond. Rushing out words of reassurance.

  
“Jesus, Molly. No, he’s doing well. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I need your help and advice though.”

 

As Molly relaxed, the anxiety in the room dropped considerably. Greg and Anthea had responded immediately to the tension that had overtaken her body. Mirroring it and automatically moving to the edges of their seats and leaning towards her. Molly spoke to both John on the phone and aside to Greg and Anthea as well.

 

“John, don’t do that! It’s ok, he’s fine. What do you need? Hang on, Anthea is here. I’m going to put you on loud speaker, she can probably help more than me.”

 

As Molly switched the phone to speaker and lay it on the counter, Greg quickly turned off the music and they all leant towards the phone slightly. Anthea spoke first.

 

“Alright, John? What can we do?”

 

“I want to move him from quarantine, get him set up somewhere comfy. The room we would have got if everything hadn’t gone to shit.”

 

Anthea was nodding as she listened and Greg and Molly watched and listened. She looked at Molly and raised her eyebrows in question as she sought her input. Molly shrugged her shoulders but nodded as she added her opinion to the discussion.

 

“He’s stable enough and he’ll have John to monitor him. John, did Mark clear it?”

 

“Yeah , so long as we’ve got somewhere suitable to go. I’m guessing we do so…”

 

Anthea bust in before John went any further.

 

“Of course you have a room. I’ll get it sorted. How long ‘til you want to move?”

 

“Can you have it ready in a couple of hours?”

 

“Of course, any special requests?”

 

“A TV? Some old case files? I’m going to need all the help I can get keeping him entertained.”

 

As they listened to John’s voice on the phone they couldn’t help but chuckle a little and they tried hard to hide it behind coughs, but there was no fooling John.

 

“You’re all bastards. Just so you know, at some point I’m going to make all of you pay for that and you get you to take your turns sitting with him so he can drive you mental for a bit.”

 

Molly took pity on John first, shooting dirty looks at Greg and Anthea as their shoulders continued to shake. Anthea had a hand over her own mouth and fought with Greg to keep one over his as well.

 

“You know we will anyway.”

 

“Thanks, Molly. Oi! Bastards, I can still hear you laughing and you are not forgiven. Right, I have to go sort his lordship out. See you later?”

 

Molly didn’t think John would want to come and eat with them without Sherlock and he wasn’t really in a position to join them, but she knew she had to do something to stop it feeling like they were separated.

 

“John, I’m cooking and though you know you are always welcome I’m not saying come eat with us because I know you want to be with Sherlock. I’ll bring you both food later. I don’t know if he’ll eat, but you need to. OK?”

 

“If he’s going to eat anything it’s your cooking, Molly. Thanks for understanding.”

 

“No worries, now off with you and we’ll see you later.”

 

They said their goodbyes and the call was disconnected, leaving the three of them sitting in silence. It didn’t last long, only until Anthea sprang from her seat with a burst of energy. She bid them a quick farewell, kissed Greg quickly and hurried from the room, leaving Greg and Molly much as they had been before. Molly looked at Greg and sighed.

 

“Fancy some cake?”

 

 


	32. Leave the bad behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys, so sorry I missed a posting weekend. I got sick and writing just wasn't happening, but hopefully things should get back to normal now. 
> 
> So this one is a bit of a sidestep into Johnlock territory, but I figured with Sherlock being in quarantine and out of it for quite so many chapters he and John deserved some focus. 
> 
> Thanks as ever for the comments and kudos and just taking the time to read this. 
> 
> To Gumbie for her uber beta/editing powers, I couldn't do any of this without you. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and I'd love to know what you guys think. Happy Saturday people! xx

When John headed back to quarantine for what he hoped was the last time, he felt like he'd accomplished something; like he was taking charge again and feeling almost normal because of it. He was just about to make the last turn that would take him back to Sherlock when he thought better of it. Instead he turned in the opposite direction and headed towards the room that housed the accessible shower and amenities. The phone he’d been given beeped in his pocket, he pulled it out and brought up the message the tone had heralded.

 

“A bag is being delivered to quarantine that should have everything you both need until we get you moved into your new room. See you later, A.”

 

Anthea really did think of everything. John tried, but he knew he’d been too focused on actually getting Sherlock clean and moved. It was quite probably that if he'd been left on his own they’d have ended up naked or wrapped in towels. John tapped at the phone screen(,) quickly sending his reply as he walked to the bathroom to ready it as he wanted. It would be much easier if everything was in place and waiting for them when they arrived together.

 

“Life saver, A. x”

 

Walking into the bathroom, John had to do a second take. When he’d been told where to find it, he’d expected the usual built for purpose not for aesthetics facilities. That was most definitely not what he found, not even close. Pulling himself out of his amazed immobility and spurned into action, John started to arrange things as he wanted. He placed one of the available shower chairs right under the large rainfall shower head that sat in the centre of the wet room ceiling. Absolutely not the usual hospital fare he was used to, but looking around the marble bathroom none of this could really be compared to the NHS. Arranging what was there as best as he could, John soon headed back to Sherlock. He was trying to ignore it, but being separated from Sherlock was causing him rather more anxiety than he would like to admit.

 

As he approached the glass cube, John couldn’t wait to get him out of it. He hated everything it represented and was more than ready to put it behind them. The lights were still dimmed in the room, but in order for the medical staff to monitor Sherlock via the security cameras there was a pale glow that fell in a circle on the bed. Entering as quietly as possible through the deactivated airlock, John moved slowly into the room.

 

At first John thought he'd managed to leave and return unnoticed, but as he got closer to the bed he saw that Sherlock had woken in his absence. He might not have the deductive reasoning skills of a Holmes, but even he could deduce that. Mainly because Sherlock held John’s note crumpled in his hand, so it wasn’t that big a leap to come to that conclusion, though John was a little bit pleased to have noticed anyway. Even though he’d gone back to sleep the piece of paper was held firmly in his grasp, and he’d curled around the pillow John had been using. John stood and looked down at Sherlock for a little longer, not wanting to wake him when he finally looked peaceful. The more he looked the more John saw the little details. Sherlock had managed to disturb the oxygen tubes again, the hand that curled up by his face the likely culprit. It still sat somewhat beneath his nose, while it wouldn't give Sherlock the ultimate aid there it would still help a little. He would have righted them immediately, but Sherlock didn't look to be distressed and his breathing didn’t seem unduly affected. John reminded himself that they only reason they were there now, was because they were being cautious with his care.

 

Glancing around, John spotted a black duffle bag resting against the glass outside of the room. He didn't remember passing it when he’d entered and it confused him enough to have him looking around for a possible source. Even though he'd been warned it was coming, it was still unnerving to have things just appear when you needed them. Especially when you didn't see who had brought it, and you were supposed to be on high alert. After a moment John realised he was overreacting, not completely unexpected given the last week, but if they were safe anywhere, it was here.

 

He looked at Sherlock for a moment and then back at the bag. Getting both of them to the shower at the same time was going to be problematic, so John decided to let Sherlock sleep a little longer and just run the bag there before waking him up. He almost made it back to the door when a grumble came from the bed that stopped him. Turning slightly back so that he was at a ninety degree angle to the bed, John twisted his head to the left to look back at Sherlock. Sleepy blue eyes looked back at him, still half lidded and clouded with sleep, even so he was frowning.

 

“You didn't shower?”

 

“Course not, sorting it out so we can get you in the shower. Like you whinged about earlier.”

 

Sherlock started to roll over and tried to sit up, he wasn't having much luck and John knew if he didn't interrupt quickly he'd only get himself into a strop and make things worse.

 

“Stay there, I'm going to dump this bag in the bathroom and then I'm coming back for you. So just hold your horses and stay when you are.”

 

Though the scowl remained on his face, Sherlock flopped back against the slightly raised back of the bed with a huff and watched as John hurried to complete his mission.

 -----(000)-----

It wasn't that Sherlock wanted to be deliberately contrary, and it wasn't that he didn't listen to John. He just happened to think John was being over cautious. His stubborn nature may also have convinced him that everything was fine and he didn't need John’s aid to reach the bathroom. Swiping his hand agitatedly over his face he dragged the oxygen tubes from beneath his nose, annoyed at the feel of it against his skin, he held it out to the side and discarded it without further thought. His decision made, Sherlock shuffled across the bed until his legs hung over the edge of the mattress. Frustratingly they didn’t reach the floor, instead they dangled midair, kicking back and forth like a child's. Wiggling his way to the edge of the bed, Sherlock let himself slide until his feet had no option but to hit the floor and bear his weight. He still maintained his grip on the bed, fingers fisted in the sheets as though they would anchor him should he start to slip. With a huff of breath and a push of his arms he managed to have himself balanced and standing, not steady, but upright all the same. Sherlock could feel the familiar tickle of a cough building at the back of his throat but he held his breath to halt its progress, it frustrated him and there wasn't time for that.

He felt a definite sense of achievement when he managed to stand next to the bed, a little too confident perhaps, but he surged ahead regardless. Keeping one leg firmly planted, Sherlock used the other to slowly pivot around until he faced the door, the covers still clutched tightly in his hand. Sherlock wanted to shout his triumph when he stayed on his feet, knees locked and legs shaking but they held him vertical. Sherlock allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and check the status of his “transport”, he’d known it wasn’t going to be perfect, maybe he had expected better than he found though.  He was sure that so long as he had the bed to lean on for the first few steps he’d be fine. Using the bed for stability, Sherlock made it to the bottom of the mattress and was encouraged by his progress. Most shockingly as far as Sherlock was concerned was that he’d managed to keep control of his breathing and he hadn’t succumbed to the cough that sat heavy in his lungs. He was sweating and he could feel his muscles beginning to quiver in rebellion, but he was as stubborn as always. Sherlock convinced himself he was ready and let go of the mattress and made. He barely managed one unaided step without something to hold on to, he felt the world tilt and he crumpled to the floor in a tangle of uncoordinated limbs. Frustrated and agitated, Sherlock felt a tightness burst across his chest, burning began behind his eyes and tears quickly began pooled and spilled down his face.

 When he tried to push himself back to his feet, Sherlock realised he was in trouble. He couldn’t get off the floor. He tried again and again, each time he fell back to land on the cold tiles once more. His arms shook even as he tried to roll on to his hands and knees, no matter what he did he was stranded and in that moment knew he should have listened to John. Sherlock was faced with the realisation that he was out of options and could do no more than sit and wait for help. Sherlock knew John couldn’t be far away, if he had been then doctors would have come running to his aid. He was glad it would be John, he didn't want to have to look at anyone else and see pity in their eyes. Sherlock rocked from side to side on his bum, he pulled at the hospital gown trying to move it so that it shielded his skin as much as possible. All in all he was not happy, he felt dizzy, he was stuck and his bum was going numb.

It only took a couple of minutes for John to get to the bathroom, unpack the changes of clothes and toiletries ready for them and to head back to collect Sherlock. John was distracted when he walked back through the corridors and he was relieved to catch sight of the glass prison, even though they were still on separate sides of the transparent walls, knowing he was close by was enough to lower his stress levels. John’s heart began to beat a little faster and he became immediately concerned when he couldn’t see Sherlock. He searched the room a little frantically but couldn’t see him anywhere. It wasn’t until he rounded the last outside corner of the quarantine room that he saw Sherlock crumpled behind the bed. As soon as John saw him looking so pathetic on the floor, he let out a string of swear words. With a burst of speed he ran into the room and skidded to a stop and crouched next to Sherlock. With frantic hands he quickly traced along Sherlock’s limbs checking for any damage. Finding none, John let out the breath he’d been holding and brought his hands to Sherlock’s cheeks, tilting his face up until he could look into Sherlock’s tear stained face.

 

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

 

John felt Sherlock give a slight shrug of his shoulders and he looked away from John’s eyes to look to the floor. His voice was small and slightly embarrassed when he answered.

 

“Fell.”

 

“I can see that, why didn't you wait? You knew I was coming back.”

 

“I thought it would be fine, I've only been sick for a day. I shouldn't be this weak.”

 

John’s heart was breaking as he watched Sherlock deflate right in front of him. Sherlock was blinking rapidly as more tears appeared in  his eyes, bringing his hands up he reached around John’s arms to wipe furiously at his face, dashing away the moisture before it could run down his cheeks.

 

“Oh love, you nearly died.”

 

When John spoke his voice tried to break, he forced himself to swallow the lump that formed in his throat. Without thought John’s thumbs moved in small semi circles over Sherlock’s cheekbones, smoothing against the skin and wiping away the tears that stubbornly slipped from the corners of his eyes.

 

“You’ve done a lot of fighting to stay with me. You didn't just have a cold Sherlock, I thought I was going to lose you. Just let me help you now, ok?”

 

Sherlock’s eyes darted across John’s face furtively, searching for any kind of condemnation and anger at his defying John’s instructions. It confused and comforted him when he saw neither, the way John looked at him could only be said to be one thing. John looked at Sherlock with love. It constantly amazed him that no matter how often he pushed John’s buttons, he never received the response he feared and yet expected most of all. Sherlock knew he did it on purpose, never quite daring to trust that John wouldn't just give up and leave him. He knew there were times when he deserved nothing more than that, but looking into John’s face, there was nothing but warmth and love. Sherlock marvelled at John’s capacity for forgiveness and endless patience, he wasn't oblivious to how much stress he caused by being the way he was. All this thinking about things he was still in the process of learning made Sherlock’s head hurt. Sherlockdid something just as foreign to him and gave in.

 

“Don't get used to me agreeing. Help me up?”

 

“Even better idea, arms around my neck, love.”

 

“John, don't be absurd.”

 

Sherlock made weak blustering noises, the very idea seemed so ridiculous that he wasn’t able to form a complete argument against what John proposed. As he was about to voice his objections again determined to stop John’s foolishness, he was halted by the tone in John’s voice. Sherlock’s eyes widened and had had he been able to see himself, he would have seen his pupils dilate immediately. It was the one thing John knew would guarantee the cooperation of one Sherlock Holmes even in one of his most stubborn moods. The stern no nonsense tones of his captain’s voice that instantly silenced any further discussion leaving no room for argument.

 

“Arms, now.”

 

“Shoulder. Too heavy.”

 

Sherlock muttered to himself under his breath, but John heard him quite clearly. A sharp pang of emotion shot though him as Sherlock let him see the vulnerability he felt inside. There were very few people who would ever get the chance to look beneath the self-assured and arrogant front he displayed to the world.

 

“Hey, listen to me? There’s nothing to you, not enough of you in fact, so come on, up with you. My shoulder is fine, it will always be fine when you need me, ok? So don't worry about it.”

 

Sherlock knew that arguing with John when he was this determined was completely pointless, and he couldn't ignore the slight thrill that rolled through him.

 

Still crouching beside Sherlock, John didn't hesitate to slide one arm around his back and the other beneath his knees. With barely a grunt of effort, which he dared Sherlock to mention with a stern look in his eyes, he hoisted him from the floor in one smooth move that left Sherlock feeling a little dizzy. John bounced him up and down a few times in order to settle Sherlock firmly and safely in his arms.

 

“You can press the buttons for me love, otherwise you just hold on.”

 

John carried Sherlock, his steps sure and unfaltering. Sherlock’s weight was low despite John’s best efforts to feed him, but he isn’t skin and bones beneath his clothes; instead he’s lanky, with a swimmers body that John greatly appreciated.

 

“My arse is on display, John.”

 

“It’s a mighty fine arse. Anyway, it’s not far and there's no one around to see. And if there are? Well, they can look all they want, but there's only me that gets to touch it.”

 

Sherlock was thrilled by John’s words, but it didn’t change the fact that he still felt the need to grouse, he was relatively sure John expected nothing less.

 

“It’s still getting cold.”

 

There wasn't any venom behind his words, more a stubborn determination to have the last say. Sherlock buried his head against John’s shoulder and breathed in the unique and familiar scent that always reminded him of home. Trying to burrow closer, Sherlock kept his arms wrapped as tightly around John’s neck as he possibly could. Though it was clear that his hold on John had absolutely nothing to do with helping hold himself up and was instead all about the sense of peace it brought him instead. He was secure and at no point was Sherlock ever worried about John dropping him.

The weight of Sherlock in his arms was comforting to John, a welcome and tangible reminder that things would be ok. Somehow Sherlock curled his body into John in the same way he managed to fit his elongated frame completely into his chair. It amazed John every time he saw him do it, Sherlock seemed to defy the very laws of physics when he managed to fold himself into such a compact space with ease.

 

Sherlock didn't often let John carry him, usually the only opportunity he got to indulge himself was nights when Sherlock passed out on the sofa after a case and was completely out cold. If he ever wondered how it was he woke up in bed, he never asked. He probably managed to deduce it on his own without John’s help. It wasn't as though there were going to be that many options, with only the two of them in the flat it was unlikely to be fairies after all. The opportunity to enjoy the cooperative weight of him in his arms rather than having to deal with a completely unruly dead weight was a rare treat, the deep sense of peace he felt whilst doing so also made John happy. Though having Sherlock in his arms no matter the circumstances seemed to be something that eased him deeply.

 

As instructed, when John stopped by the buttons to open the doors Sherlock reached out and pressed them. He didn't have to reach far as John positioned them close enough that he hardly had to move at all. In fact he only had to unhook one arm from around John’s neck and barely hold out his hand before the buttons were beneath his fingers. There were few doors between them and their destination and Sherlock was quiet and content where he was. Each time they stopped he felt John tip his own head slightly to rest his cheek against the top of Sherlock’s hair, every time he exhaled Sherlock could feel the warm air tickle against his scalp and raise goose bumps over his skin in a wave that ran from his scalp down to his toes.

 

Perhaps too soon for both of them, they arrived at the shower. This was the first time Sherlock had really got the chance to see more of their location, but he wasn't surprised by what he saw. What else could be expected but gauche luxury when it came to locations like this? Sherlock knew there were several locations such as this throughout London, even if this is the one Mycroft prefers. Sherlock saw the preparations John had made when he came here and it was easy for him to work out what he had planned. He'd approached it like a military operation and the thought made Sherlock smile. When faced with a challenge, John had a tendency to fall back on his training to get them through and Sherlock wouldn’t argue with that.

 

Slowly and with enviable control, John lowered Sherlock onto the remaining seat against the wall of the wet room.

 

“Just wait here, I've got a plan for this.”

 

Sherlock’s lips tipped up slightly at the corners, of course John did, because John liked to make plans. He liked things organised and squared away.

John was surprised when he got no argument, no whinging, no complaints. He’d expected all of the above, seeing as Sherlock wasn't the most patient of men. It appeared he'd got a get out of jail free card on this occasion though. Leaving him slumped somewhat precariously in the chair, John moved to start his next objective.

Getting the temperature of the shower right was a matter of negotiation. Almost negotiation at least, because there was no way John would allow Sherlock to win. He liked his showers blisteringly hot, so much so that John had recoiled from the scalding temperature on more than one occasion when joining Sherlock under the spray at home. Strangely, seeing Sherlock with water cascading down his body was usually enough to have John forgetting most things, including his name and the basics of self-preservation. He’d made the same mistake at least ten times. Not this time though. He couldn’t permit it, too high a heat would only have him coughing. So long as Sherlock stayed calm and relatively cool, the frequency of the coughing would stay limited and John wanted to avoid changing that.

Sherlock watched the efficiency with which John moved intently, following his progress when he checked and re-checked everything he’d decided they needed in order for Sherlock to feel clean again. Meanwhile Sherlock was left slumped as though boneless in the chair, doing nothing more than watching John with his head tilted sideways and resting on his shoulder.

 

John stripped out of his own clothes quickly and made sure that the shower chair was centred perfectly underneath the rainfall shower head. Satisfied, he started the shower and adjusted the temperature until it felt perfect against his palm. He held himself outside of the main fall of water but there’s no escaping the spray. When he walked back towards Sherlock his hair looked frosty, tiny beads of water settling on his head and skin catching the light as he drew closer. The whole image made Sherlock catch his breath as a cough started to escape him.

 

“Oi! Pack it in. This is purely practical, nothing else so mind out of the gutter please.”

 

Around choked splutters Sherlock  managed to get out a few words.

 

“Then stop... Parading! It's distracting!”

 

“Concentrate! Though I do like hearing you say it.”

 

John knew he was being a little bit cruel so he didn’t delay for too long. Crouching down in front of Sherlock he reached his arms around his neck to undo the tie that held the gown in place and eased it from his body. Seeing as that was all he was wearing it didn’t exactly take long to have him naked as well. Instead of picking him up, this time John looped Sherlock’s hands around his neck and shuffled forwards on his haunches slightly to wrap his arms around Sherlock’s waist. When he stood he pulled Sherlock with him until they were pressed together, no barriers separating them at all. When their bodies came together, Sherlock shuddered at the touch of John’s damp cool skin. Instinctively Sherlock’s arms switched to move on John’s shoulders and wrapped loosely around his head so that he could bury one hand in John’s hair. When John looked up at Sherlock, the look he gave him made Sherlock return the smile warmly. Sherlock couldn’t help himself, he leant hard against John and dropped his head so that his lips could brush against John’s cheek. When he pulled away again he was slightly thrown by John’s reaction.

 

“What was that?”

 

Sherlock panicked then; he knew he’d get it wrong. He always had trouble reading the situation and knowing what to do. He relied upon John telling him how to react when he struggled, but he’d thought he was getting better.

 

“A kiss?”

 

“Yes, but on the cheek?”

 

Sherlock blushed and stammered out a response, eager to try and explain himself.

 

“Not brushed my teeth.”

 

“Sherlock, really? I think I can handle it, I'm just glad I still get to do this. Come here, let’s try that again, shall we? Properly this time, if you don't mind.”

 

John tipped up on his toes, wishing not for the first time that Sherlock wasn’t quite so much taller than he was. Sealing their lips, the kiss was slow and charged with emotion. John tried to push his emotions through the touching of their lips. Tried to get Sherlock to feel all the emotions John was experiencing. He wanted Sherlock to understand that this was him reaffirming their relationship and convincing him that they were going to be ok.

With Sherlock’s breathing the way it was, John couldn't keep the kiss going for too long, so he reluctantly broke away. Not going far, only resting his forehead against Sherlock’s cheek.

 

“See, that's how it's done, remember now?”

 

Sherlock only hummed his agreement, and John knew he'd made his point. Steadying Sherlock, his arms still holding him tightly around the waist, bodies flush, John started to slowly walk backwards, urging Sherlock to take small steps with him. It wasn't far to the chair and quickly they entered the edge of the showers reach. As soon as the water touched his skin Sherlock groaned, and with his eyes closed tilted his head back so that the water could run down his face and saturate his hair. John had to immediately remind himself that this wasn't a shower shared as foreplay, but with Sherlock making sounds like that it was damn difficult. When the back of John’s knees touched the chair he braced himself slightly and lifted Sherlock from his feet, turning them both so he could sit Sherlock under the warm cascade.

 

John stepped back and lost his breath. Seeing Sherlock pale as marble leaning back in the chair, completely lost in the feel of the warmth spreading over his skin, he looked like the creation of a master sculptor. One arm in bent, his palm up as it rested in his lap and the other hanging loosely at his side, one knee bent the other leg stretched out he was quite simply stunning. The picture was only complete when he opened one eye to look at John.

 

“Are you planning on staying there and staring, or are you joining me?”

 

John coughed and adjusted himself quickly to check just how inappropriate his reaction was right at this moment. He couldn't chastise himself too much though, there was no way seeing Sherlock like that was going to leave him unaffected, no matter the circumstances. He was merely a man faced with a masterpiece.

 

Sherlock had closed his eye once more and was revelling in the water that sluiced away the sweat and grime that made him uncomfortable. It wasn't perfect, but it was an improvement. He knew something even better was coming and he wasn't disappointed. He felt the stirring of cool air as John moved around him, heard the splashing of his footsteps as he walked to stand behind him. Sherlock waited in anticipation for what he hoped was coming. Above the sound of the shower in his ears, he heard the tell-tale sounds of a shampoo bottle being opened and the rather obscene sound as a measure was dispensed into a waiting hand. The light thump as the bottle was returned to the surface it had come from and then it was bliss.

 

At the first touch of John’s hands Sherlock groaned deep in his throat and then choked a little. John tapped him on the head to get his attention again.

 

“Oi, we've been through this. Function, not foreplay!”

 

“Yes, yes, John. Hard the first time. Erm, sorry heard you the first time.”

 

Sherlock concluded with a cough that didn't quite cover the smile in his voice. Even so the fingers that danced against his scalp, soaping up his hair didn't stop for long.

 

Rolling his eyes, John massaged the shampoo in slowly as he applied pressure in circular motions, making sure to cover all the strands that temporarily wilted and straightened under the onslaught of water and suds. Devoid of its curls, Sherlock’s hair reached almost to his shoulders in a straight black curtain and John loved being given the opportunity to play with it. As quickly as John lathered the shampoo the shower worked to take it away again, far too soon in John’s opinion. Peering down at Sherlock’s face and with a quick glance to his chest to check his breathing pattern, John decided to indulge them both just a little and reached for the shampoo bottle again. Well it did say lather, rinse, repeat if necessary. John deemed it perfectly necessary, three goes might be a bit suspicious but two? Well that sounded about right, oh and conditioner. Mustn't forget that for Mr Particular.

 

John just about had his libido under control by the time it came to move from behind Sherlock and switch his attention to actually cleaning the body that drove him crazy. He was determined to fight the reaction his body normally had to Sherlock’s proximity, this was neither the time nor the place. Well... it could be the place. John shook his head swiftly, no, definitely not the time. He gave himself a pep talk in his head. “Come on Watson, you can do this. Look at him for God’s sake! I am, that’s the problem!”

 

“Have you done arguing with yourself, John? It's perfectly fine you know? It's flattering.”

 

“Can you not just ignore it? And get out of my head, it's hard enough as it is.”

 

“Kiss and I'll behave.”

 

“You won't though. You're your own worst enemy.”

 

“You won't know if you don't try.”

 

John stayed behind Sherlock but settled his hands on his cheeks and tilted his head back and took use of the opportunity, as ungainly and not entirely practical as it was, to lean over and kiss Sherlock’s lips upside down quickly. At least that was the plan until Sherlock’s hand whipped up to the back of John’s head and took advantage of his precarious balance to hold him where he was and deepen the kiss. John tried to pull back out of self-preservation, but to fight too much would risk him falling onto Sherlock and he didn't want to think of the damage that could be done at this angle. When Sherlock broke off to breathe, John steadied himself on the back of the chair and settled steadily back onto his feet again.

 

“You, Mr Holmes, are a kiss thief.”

 

“Can't steal what’s already mine.”

 

“Damn you, but that was smooth. Yes, every one of my kisses is for you, but you have to wait for the next one. The sooner we get this done, the easier it’ll be for both of us.”

 

Sherlock only humphed under his breath, not exactly agreeing with John, but he wasn’t fighting him either. Once more he rested with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. John shook himself slightly, as always he was side-tracked by Sherlock. He took several breaths and tried to think of anything that would wilt the erection that stood proudly from his body. It wasn’t exactly helping him convince Sherlock to behave if he was walking around flying the damn flag. Distance, maybe that would help, he stepped back from Sherlock and moved away from the shower spray, turning his back to Sherlock. A cold shower was out of the question so long as Sherlock was firmly ensconced under the water. The sight was so distracting that every thought John had about behaving himself seemed to fly straight from his mind. If he had been a sceptical man, he might think that Sherlock was doing it deliberately to taunt him into changing his mind. John supposed it was a good thing he wasn’t.

 

If John had thought it was hard enough washing Sherlock’s hair, he hadn’t really thought through the next, rather necessary part of the plan. He started a mantra running around his head, “Doctor, you’re a doctor. You’ve done this before, sort of. You can do this.” That was all well and good until the devil on his shoulder piped up with his own insight into the situation.  “But that wasn’t Sherlock, was it? Not beautiful, sex on legs, love of your fucking life Sherlock, was it?” A deep rumble of a voice that only strengthened the devils argument came from behind him.

 

“Everything alright, John?”

 

He didn’t need to see the knowing smile that accompanied Sherlock’s seemingly innocent question.  

 

“Yeah, I’m coming. Just give me a minute.”

 

They were both silent for a beat after that, aware of the suggestive implications of John’s words. For someone trying to behave, his choice of words wasn’t exactly helping, with a pained sigh John spoke again.

 

“I know, just let it go please.”

 

“If you insist, I’m only here to help.”

 

“Sherlock, please? This isn’t easy. Of course I want you, I always do. You’ve only got to look at me, or lower your voice and I’m right on the same page. I promise you, as soon as I’m not likely to kill you if you get a little excited, I’ll make it up to you. Rest assured I still want you, I’m not going anywhere and when we’re back to normal. Well, then I really will take your breath away for all the right reasons.”

 

John said all of this while keeping his back to Sherlock. Sometimes when he lay all his emotions bare it unbalanced Sherlock. Not because Sherlock didn’t feel it too, just because he was still getting used to having these things spoken out loud. John would always treasure that no one else had been given the opportunity to see just how truly extraordinary Sherlock was, so long as he was given the chance.

 

“Promise?”

 

Picking up the large, luxurious sea sponge John also grabbed the shower gel that had been provided with their supplies. Unsurprisingly it was Sherlock’s fancy, sinfully scented expensive brand. As soon as he undid the cap and squeezed some onto the sponge, the smell wafted through the room making it smell divine.

 

“Promise.”

 

Turning back to Sherlock, John moved to his side and linking their fingers, lifted Sherlock’s arm and began the not exactly arduous task of caressing Sherlock’s skin. Soap suds foamed freely as he rubbed spirals along Sherlock’s arm. The soft sponge and soap quickly taking away any trace of the fever and sickly scent of illness that clung to him. Replacing the things that brought repulsive memories with the familiar scent of home, long showers, steamed mirrors and even damp towels that never quite managed to make it into the laundry basket. He moved around Sherlock, urging him to lean forwards so that John could run those soapy suds all over his back. While he may have been silent he was by no means unaware. He watched John with hooded eyes, tracking his movements and flicking his eyes from John’s face to the progress his hands took over his chest. John tried not to meet Sherlock’s eyes, he didn’t think that he’d be able to remember his reasons for not ravishing him if he did.

 

Thankfully though, as Sherlock watched intently he remained quiet and allowed John to do as he wanted. John knelt on the floor and lifted Sherlock’s foot to rest against his thigh. The situation was clearly taking its toll on John, despite being adamant that he was going to go about everything in as clinical manner as possible, looking up at Sherlock he should have known that was never going to happen.

 

When the sponge and rhythmic pampering stopped at his thigh, Sherlock lifted his head and opened his eyes to look down at John. Strong, capable, hard John, kneeling in front of him with his erection to close to Sherlock’s foot, so temptingly close.

 

“I may not be in a fit state to join you in “activities”, but I assure you I can take care of that for you. If you’ll let me.”

 

John shook his head. Just because he was hard, didn’t mean he had to do anything about it. It was a natural reaction to Sherlock’s proximity, he was quite capable of controlling himself.

 

“No, love. When you’re better we’ll work on them together. I’ll wait for you.”

“Don’t be stubborn, John. Allow me to bring you pleasure and relief. I assure you it also brings me pleasure to please you.”

 

John slid his hands up Sherlock’s slick skin to rest them on his knees, thumbs rubbing against the inside, creeping towards his thighs. John leant slightly forwards until his chest touched Sherlock’s calves.

 

“Hey no, I’ll wait for you. I don’t want the next time I get to ravish you and have you take me apart be in a bunker underneath London, in a random shower when you’re still sick. However, when you’re well and we’re home. I warn you now because case or no case? Neither of us is making out for several days and I’ll be damned if either of us will be able to walk straight.”

 

“How long?”

 

“I don’t know, days, a week, two weeks? Depends on Mycroft and what’s going on out there. They seem to have it covered, I’ve not exactly been focussed on what they’re doing, so I don’t have all the details I know you’re going to want.”

 

“Mycroft will provide the details, he is sure to be desperate for my help by now.”

 

John tipped his head until his forehead met Sherlock’s thigh. He’d hoped for a little more time before Sherlock was back to baiting Mycroft, but apparently the ceasefire was almost over. It had to be a record given how little time they’d spent together.

 

“Please, Sherlock. Just please don't wind him up any more. He’s under a lot of stress you know, I think I respect him even more now after all this.”

 

Sherlock didn't say anything, in fact he bit back the remark that was on the tip of his tongue. He had the feeling that if he were to continue John would likely classify it as “a bit not good”. And he’d like to avoid causing more problems. More than were inevitable given his enforced inactivity. Could jealousy be a factor? It was a possibility, not that he would ever voice such a thing of course. Inactivity and boredom were his triggers and he knew it, John knew it too. Hell everyone knew it. Before he could delve deeper into those thoughts, John demanded his attention.

 

“Right, come on we’ve got to get our shit together. We finish this shower quickly, no speaking, no suggestive looks, nothing. Got it? Good! Then when we’re dressed, we’re breaking out of that bloody goldfish bowl and getting a proper comfortable bed, privacy and entertainment.”

 

Leaning heavily on Sherlock’s knees, John pushed himself to his feet and stood with his hands on his hips in front of Sherlock. Nude or not, this was the John that demanded Sherlock’s complete cooperation and would except nothing else. When faced with no “or” option, Sherlock supposed he had no choice but to do as he was told. It didn't mean that he didn't find the sight of John arousing and amusing all at the same time, it just meant he had to choose his battles carefully and this was one he wasn't going to win.

 

“Sherlock, do you agree to the terms?”

 

“I'm not sure those were terms, John. You laid out the plan, there is nothing for me to agree too.”

 

Sherlock snapped his lips shut when John started to tap his foot against the wet floor. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before narrowing his eyes and just settled on nodding his head once. John returned the nod and Sherlock quickly found himself squeaky clean and lifted from under the hot water to stand outside the fabulously warm water. Before he could begin to cool too much, he was wrapped completely in heated towels, wrapped so completely that he was unable to move his arms. He struggled for a moment before his temper started to rise. John still held him steady with hands secure on his waist. He didn't pick Sherlock up again but he had definite control. Sherlock knew that if he faltered at all, there would be no danger of him hitting the ground.

 

“I am not a child to be swaddled, John.”

 

“No you are not. However, you look fucking adorable, so you're going to sit there while I shower and then we’re out of here.”

 

Spinning the towel mummy that Sherlock was, John carefully guided him the few short steps to the chair he’d first sat him in. Arms still trapped Sherlock sat there while John threw a smaller towel over Sherlock’s dripping hair and began to rub as much moisture from the strands as possible. When he decided enough was enough and pulled the towel away, there was no fighting the laughter that burst from his chest. Sherlock glowered at him and that was fine, what did John in was the riotous mess of his hair. It stood out in curly chaos, rising from his head making him look like he’s stuck his finger in a plug socket. He couldn't even speak, he looked absurd and completely and utterly fantastic. Talking pity on the glowering mass before him, John dropped the towel and used his fingers to card through the curls and try and tame them just a little bit. When he reached the point when curl taming was just about to switch from functional to indulgent, John forced himself to race beneath the shower. Quicker than he’d probably ever showered before he was back out from underneath the spray, switching off the shower and wrapping a towel low on his hips.

 

“Right, I'm going to get dressed, you're going to call Anthea and find out where our room is. Oh, and find out how far it is because I need to know if we need a wheelchair.”

 

John made the universal shut your mouth signal with his hand and glared, to cut Sherlock off before he started to complain.

 

“Not even listening, it's the way it is so deal with it. Then we’ll get you dressed. By the luck of it, Anthea’s been kind because you've got a t-shirt and pyjama pants. Also, if I'm not mistaken, another dressing gown for your collection. What is it with you Holmes’ and your dressing gowns? No, doesn't matter.”

 

“John, listening to your monologue is fascinating, but I just want to check you don't actually require my input at any point? I’ve always wondered what it would be like in the military.”

 

“No you haven't, smart arse.”

 

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and jerked his head to the side before a smile broke out on his lips. Despite the delay, John pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock’s smiling mouth.

 

“Just do it, and that's an order, Private.”

 

John turned away and Sherlock knew he couldn't delay any longer. He was getting out. Ok, so it was more swapping one area of enforced inactivity for one that was slightly less controlled, but it was a sign. He knew as soon as he was outside of the medical wing he’d be able to get back involved in at least some capacity, maybe not physical but his brain was incredibly well rested and ready for the next challenge.


	33. Eye of the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the delay in posting the next chapter of this and I whole heartedly thank you for coming back and having patience with me. Life has it's way of getting in the way as I'm sure you all know and things have just been battering me lately. I think it's probably safe to say that the posting schedule I've done my best to keep up for the last year (I can't believe you've been sticking with me for a year!) has gone out of the window for the time being. I will ty and get back on track, but I honestly don't see it happening just yet. Anyway enough of that, thank you so much for being with me on the best journey I think I've ever had, it's been a privilege and an honour. Thank you for letting me entertain you (at least I hope so) and I hope you stick with me to the end. 
> 
> Thank you to you all and thank you to MyCitrusPocket who's been there since the beginning and I hope will be with me 'til we're old, grey and crazy old ladies.

***********************************************************

Mycroft yawned and rubbed his hands over his face. He’d been staring at facts and figures for so long that all the characters had started to blur and mingle together. His eyes burned with tiredness and the yawns kept erupting from him. The more he thought about it, the more it happened. His jaw stretched wide and his eyes scrunched tightly shut, even so his eyes watered relentlessly.

Tensing his muscles, Mycroft forced his shoulders back and his chest forwards. With one hand still rubbing at his eyes, he reached the other arm wide and enjoyed the creaking satisfaction of the stretch that accompanied the popping of his joints. When he opened his eyes, he blinked rapidly trying to hold in another yawn. His nostrils flared and his bottom jaw juddered under the strain. Linking his fingers, he rested them on top of his head and settled back into the chair, underneath the desk he stretched his legs out and circled his angles. He really had been sitting still for too long, but at least he had managed to get through the essentials. It was difficult to believe that the world outside their calamity continued on as normal, oblivious to what they were going through. He supposed the situation felt so different because the case hit so close to home, blurring the line between his professional and personal lives more than normal. Mycroft considered himself lucky that the matter had been classified as one of international importance. Had he not been able to pursue the matter with the full resources at his disposal, Mycroft didn’t care to think about the difficult choices he would have been forced to make. The issue would still have been his responsibility, after all it was his past rising to bite them in the rear, no matter what, the situation was his to rectify.  
  
Straightening in his seat, Mycroft lifted his hands from his head and laid his hands flat on the desk. The light from the brass and green glass desk lamp glinted off the face of his watch, and Mycroft noticed the time. He let out an uncharacteristic curse when he realised he was late. He’d been so engrossed in making sure he had everything in order so that he could allow himself the time for food and sleep without guilt, that he’d allowed the time to catch him unawares. While he wasn’t unforgivably late it was a fine line.  
  
Flinging papers into labelled files haphazardly, he gathered what he needed hastily. He didn’t even take the time to put his suit jacket back on, his rolled shirt sleeves and waistcoat would suffice well enough for dinner with the family. Mycroft was unusually flustered and it had absolutely nothing to do with the mission that crept ever closer. As far as he was aware, things on that front were progressing as expected and were well taken care of. Anthea had taken control of that in order to allow him to catch up with the few duties from normal life that couldn’t be delegated to others. There were some things just too delicate to be passed in to hands other than his own.  
  
That Anthea hadn’t arrived to remind him of the time, had Mycroft a little concerned. While she wasn’t his minder, she took it on herself to act as such. Technically she was registered as his assistant, but it had been a long time since she had been just that. Striding from the office he shut the door behind him. Anthea was as dedicated as he, because of that single minded determination he knew just where to find her. Setting off down the empty corridor Mycroft allowed himself to hurry a little. He didn’t want to be any later to Molly’s dinner than was absolutely necessary.  
  
Mycroft found Anthea just as he’d expected, once more in the crowded control room surrounded by the support team that did her bidding. Looking around the room Mycroft’s eyes were drawn to the corner furthest away from him. Separated from the hustle of the room, perched on a chair and almost concealed by a bank of monitors was Kendo. Their eyes met for only a moment but Kendo nodded fractionally, Mycroft returned the sentiment and then moved on. Kendo was clearly content with proceedings, if he hadn’t been he would have sought Mycroft out to discuss any issues he had. Kendo was a natural leader and without being asked, his very nature meant that he wasn’t content to leave others to do all the work. He wanted to see the big picture, a details man to the core. While Mycroft and Anthea disappeared he was sure that Kendo would remain in position, still and observant. Mycroft raised his wrist again and looked at the time, a little dismayed at how quickly the time seemed determined to flow.  
  
Anthea spotted him not long after, she was still in deep conversation with the woman in front of her, but her attention was on him. He tapped at the face of his watch, the movement clear and precise in its meaning. She glanced quickly at the phone ever present in her hand. Whether she knew it or not, the occasions she didn’t have it in her hand or at least on her person where she could get to it immediately, were few and far between. Should it ever be further from her than she could reach she suffered separation anxiety. It wasn’t exactly a healthy relationship to have with a piece of technology, but as he could feel the weight of his own phone in his trouser pocket, he wasn’t really in a position to throw stones.  
  
Mycroft’s lip reading skills were not exactly taxed when he watched Anthea make an exclamation much the same as he had on seeing the time. She made rolling motions with her hands in an effort to speed up the conversation she was engaged in, either the woman was oblivious or just determined to speak to Anthea about whatever details she had. It was hard to tell as he could only see Anthea’s side of the conversation. He looked towards Kendo again. If he was determined to be in the room, he may as well take on an active role in proceedings. Mycroft jerked his head, and though it appeared Kendo had been taking no notice, Mycroft knew better. Questioning brows raised, but Kendo stood all the same and made his way across the floor.

 

“Boss?”

“Kendo, I assume you have made a feature of yourself here for the duration?”  
  
“You know me, boss. Sleep and I don’t necessarily exist in harmony before we head out, at least this way I’ll sleep on the plane. What can I do for you? I’m guessing you don’t just fancy a friendly chat.”  
  
“Very astute of you, Kendo. You appear to be rather interested in the activities here.”  
  
Mycroft watched as Kendo’s ever shrewd eyes swept around the room. He didn’t appear to linger on any one person or thing for long, but it was clear he saw everything that was happening. Mycroft knew looks like that, they could be terrifying in their intensity to anyone outside of their profession. After his sweep of the room, Kendo looked back at Mycroft.

“I find it fascinating. I don’t usually get to see this side of the process up close and personal, I only get to see the end result. I have to say it’s a relief to see the amount of care and dedication involved.”  
  
The idea that was forming in Mycroft’s mind came together then. With Kendo’s agreement there was an opportunity for the work being done to continue under excellent supervision. There had been an uncomfortable niggle at the back of his mind at the prospect of both he and Anthea being absent for any length of time, though it was quite apparent that they couldn’t carry on as they had been indefinitely. Burn out and exhaustion would only be inevitable should they try.

“I have a proposition for you. However, you are under no obligation to agree.”  
  
“I’m listening.”  
  
“As you seem to find all of this so fascinating and have no plans to retire to your quarters, would you be amenable to assuming command for the next ten hours or so?”  
  
“You sure?” 

“An opportunity has presented itself that seems mutually beneficial. You gain experience in an area you have quietly expressed an interest in, and it allows Anthea and I the chance to prepare for the moment you depart.”  
  
Kendo seemed to think it over, his face was serious and giving away nothing as he looked back at Mycroft. If he were to say no, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, things would continue in their absence, but Mycroft would admit his rest would not be as undisturbed as he truly required. He was beyond tired, while he had tried to ensure the others were as well taken care of as could possibly be expected, it had meant less time to cater to his own needs. The few hours he’s managed to snatch with Molly all those hours ago had reinvigorated him briefly, but to his dismay it had left him more drained once it wore off.  
  
“If something big and out of my league comes in, I call you?”  
  
“Of course, you have both Anthea and my own contact numbers. Should you require anything, simply call and one of us shall return. I do not anticipate however, that you shall need to.”  
  
Flicking his eyes around the room, Mycroft watched the busy workers as they bustled about with determined purpose. Clapping Kendo on the shoulder, he walked around him and headed for Anthea, who was still very much involved in her conversation. He called back over his shoulder as he drew further away.  
  
“Have faith, Kendo. I have no doubt you will cope admirably.”  
  
Kendo didn’t look terribly convinced, but Mycroft knew potential when he saw it. As he got closer to Anthea he saw more details, there were dark circles beneath her eyes that makeup hadn’t been able to conceal completely. Scattered around the room, Mycroft could see the prerequisite plethora of discarded coffee cups, but Anthea’s desk held more than its fair share. It was clear that their downtime couldn’t come soon enough for either of them. At that moment his stomach took the opportunity to make itself known and rumbled painfully and loudly and Mycroft concluded that it was definitely far passed the time for food and sleep. They’d been working hard, and even though this whole situation had only been playing out for a little over a week, it had been a week of little sleep and little respite from the chaos. Coming up on Anthea he took her elbow securely.  
  
“As of now Kendo has command. Should you need assistance he has the authority and clearance to provide it. Now if you will excuse us?”  
  
Not waiting for a reply, Mycroft immediately lead Anthea away. He didn’t break step even as Anthea lunged sideways to snag her suitcase sized handbag. Once they exited the room the pair of them hot footed it in the direction that promised food, rest and the company of the ones they loved. Mycroft looked at his watch again and increased his pace. Mycroft, the man who rushed for no crisis, was now travelling through hallways at what could only be described as a brisk pace. Anthea hurried by his side and followed his lead.  
  
“How late are we?”  
  
“Late enough to be noticed, I am sure.”  
  
“They’ll never say anything Mycroft, you know that.”  
  
“I do, though it does not sit easily with me.”  
  
“Let’s face it, they are our better halves. Capable of things we will never be able to do.”  
  
“That they are, Anthea. That they are.”  
  
Anthea smacked at his arm, the blow glancing off doing no damage, but making him know he was suitably chastised.  
  
“Hey, no melancholy allowed! Didn’t you hear? We get to eat and sleep! We’re barely late, let’s just get a move on. Molly’s cooking is waiting and it smelled divine before.”  
  
Without warning, Anthea broke out into a run and Mycroft was startled that she had enough energy left to manage it. By the time he recovered from the shock and put thoughts of his carefully crafted image aside, she had enough of a head start that she had already disappeared around a corner. Mycroft found himself caught up in her giddiness and took off after her at a steady lope, easily following the cackles she was emitting like a mad woman.  
   
  
                                                                                   -----(000)-----  
  
  
Anthea sprinted into the dining room just as Greg exited the kitchen with his arms full of cutlery and napkins. He barely managed to drop it all on the table before he had his arms full of a laughing Anthea. Buoyed by her exuberance he dipped slightly to wrap his arms securely around her waist and straightening, lifted her off her feet to swing her around. Greg hadn’t expected such an energetic entrance, but seeing Anthea giddy was both a good thing and a warning all at once. Getting her fed before she keeled over face first onto her plate was going to be a touch and go thing.  
  
They’d just completed their second full circle when Mycroft too burst into the dining room, Greg just didn’t want to ask. Mycroft nodded at him, but didn’t stop. Instead he headed straight for the kitchen without saying a word. Greg set Anthea on her feet and she swayed a little as her head swam with dizziness. Greg dropped a kiss onto her nose in greeting.  
  
 “Hello, love. You’re just in time.”  
  
Anthea was breathless when she answered and Greg could only think that she looked adorable with hair now lopsided on her head. She looked absolutely knackered, but also as carefree in that moment as he has seen in her since Molly had first been followed.

“Hi back.”  
  
Greg lead Anthea to her seat and prodded her until she collapsed onto it. He didn’t want to pester her, but the need to ask if they could indeed stay after dinner ate at him. He was very aware that disappointment was a very real possibility, but there was no way he would ever blame her for the demands of her job. A certain saying about glass houses and stones rattled through his mind, Greg’s own job often left Anthea eating dinner and going to bed alone after all. Carefully, Greg laid out the silver wear he’d found in the kitchen and arranged the napkins on plates. He filled the water glasses on the table with iced water from a large jug; while wine would have been preferable it wouldn’t work in anyone’s favour to end up with a hangover. As he worked he could feel Anthea watching him intently, but he didn’t stop to meet her gaze.

“I can hear you Mr Lestrade, and yes the plan is still on. Food and sleep in that order. If we time this right, there’s a whole eight hours of sleep with our names on it.”

He should have known she’d work out what was going on in his head.  
  
“You, madam, have been spending far too much time with the Holmes brothers if you’re reading my mind.”  
  
Greg finished setting the table and checked it over one last time before turning back to Anthea and dropping to a crouch in front of her. His knees protested at the rough treatment, but he ignored them. He placed a hand on each of the arms of the chair, caging her with his arms and leant forwards, crowding into her space. She reached her hands to take his face between her palms.  
  
“You do exactly the same to me and you know it has absolutely nothing to do with the Holmes’ and everything to do with you and me.”  
  
Anthea wasn’t able to maintain the serious of her tone and the tenderness of the situation. The sleep giddiness was just too much to bear. Her eyes roamed his face and she rubbed her fingers over his stubbled cheeks and smooched them forcing his lips into an exaggerated pout. She burst out laughing and continued to manipulate the skin on his face for her enjoyment. Greg rolled his eyes and shook his head. Dinner was going to be interesting.  
  
“Stay there, I’ve got more dinner things to do. Oh, where are John and Sherlock? I’ve got to take them their dinner.”  
  
“Room two doors down from ours. Can you remember how to get there?”  
  
Greg forced his knees to cooperate and he pushed himself to standing, but he still kept his hands on the arms of the chair and loomed over Anthea.  
  
“Yes, wench. I remember.”  
  
“Well, you did have an interesting time trying to find this place this morning.”  
  
“I swear, if your next comment has anything to do with men asking for directions, you’re not getting cake. And it’s amazing as always!”  
  
“You got cake? How is that fair?”  
  
Greg was disappearing even as he almost sang his answer to Anthea as he skipped away mid gloat.  
  
“Because, Molly loves me more than you!”  
  
Anthea’s growl followed him as he retreated and it just made him laugh even more.  
  
  
                                                                                      -----(000)-----  
  
  
Mycroft left Anthea and Greg to their reunion. He slowed his pace as he entered the kitchen, dropping from his run to a standstill at the sight of Molly. She stood in front of the hob stirring a large pot with steam rising around her face. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that sat high on her head, even so tendrils escaped to curl against her cheeks. Molly looked relaxed and happy and just seeing her like that put Mycroft at ease. As he walked across the kitchen, Molly turned slightly, angling towards him as he approached. Absentmindedly she stirred the contents of the pot, but all her attention was on him as he closed the space between them. When he finally got close enough he stepped behind Molly and wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed himself close to her back, pulling her so that she was flush against him.  
  
The height difference between them had the top of Molly’s head tucked easily underneath Mycroft’s chin. She leant back into him and tilted her head to the side so that his chin slid off the crown of her head to rest against her shoulder, leaving his lips close enough to her ear that he couldn’t resist pressing them to her earlobe. Mycroft took a deep breath through his nose and before he could release the breath his stomach rumbled loudly again, reminding him just how hungry he was.  
  
“Something smells wonderful.”  
  
“Nothing fancy, but it’ll fill your belly. When was the last time you ate something anyway? I can hear it complaining from here.”  
  
“There’s no denying that your cooking always smells divine, however that wasn’t. What. I. Was. Referring. To.”  
  
Mycroft punctuated each of his words with a kiss to Molly’s shoulder where her jumper had slid down to reveal her smooth pale skin. It was slightly ruined when he yawned hard enough to have his jaw cracking. Mycroft dipped slightly to trap his yawn against her neck. Molly raised her free hand to cradle the top of Mycroft’s head, letting her fingers play with the strands as she patted his head.  
  
“Charmer, now go sit at the table. The sooner you’re fed and watered we can go sleep. At least I’m assuming we’re still ok to sleep?”  
  
Mycroft’s voice was muffled as he spoke without moving his face from its place at her neck, but his words were clear enough for Molly to understand.  
  
“Everything is going to plan, unless something occurs to change that, all is well.”  
  
Molly nodded and lay the large wooden spoon across the top of the pot. She ducked out of Mycroft’s arms to turn and face him and brought her hands to rest against his stomach. She pushed at him slightly, then a little harder when he didn’t move under her instruction.  
  
“Go, sit and send Greg back this way. Dinner is ready and he volunteered to take Sherlock and John’s to them.”  
  
   
                                                                                    -----(000)-----  
   
  
Greg made it back to the kitchen just as Molly was pushing Mycroft in his direction. He’d left Anthea sitting at the table fidgeting with a napkin and eyeing up the bread rolls that sat in a basket in the middle of the table.  
  
“No need Mol, I’m already here. Mycroft, you might as well do what she says, can you make sure Anthea’s not stuffing her face with bread for me? She doesn’t have the best restraint when she’s hungry and tired.”  
  
“Of course, Greg. Molly, are you sure I cannot be of assistance.”  
  
“My, go. You're only going to be under my feet if you stay, and you're making me yawn.”  
  
As if to make her point she immediately yawned, not just Mycroft's tired presence bringing out yawns of sympathy, the thought alone was enough it seemed.   
  
“Go, go, go! Out with you, once I get Greg out of here with theirs I’ll bring yours.”  
  
Without further argument Mycroft allowed himself to be shooed from the kitchen. Looking up he found Anthea trying to look innocent whilst covered in crumbs.  
  
“Subtle Anthea, extremely so, though you may wish to brush the evidence away.”  
  
Anthea tried to deny it, but the bread she'd been trying to conceal in her mouth had absorbed all the moisture leaving her coughing crumbs instead.   
  
“Denial may well be a useless exercise at the moment.”  
  
He watched as Anthea drained her water glass with full mouthfuls and saw the “I'm thinking” look that passed across her face.  
  
“Nothing, Anthea? Not even an attempt?”  
  
She placed her glass back on the table, seemed to pause a moment as though she was about to say something. Instead she looked him right in the eye, grabbed another bread roll and stuffed it in her mouth grinning around it instead.   
  
“Yes, quite. I am however to make sure you do not do, exactly that which you are currently doing.”  
  
Anthea didn't even pause at his words, she just carried on as she was completely ignoring him. Mycroft gave up and conceded defeat, if they weren't supposed to eat the bread it wouldn't have been left on the table as temptation. At least that's what he told himself with a shrug as he snatched up his own roll and proceeded to join her. 

  
                                                                               -----(000)-----

  
Greg felt like he should be wearing a tuxedo as he wheeled silver dome covered plates on a brass cart towards John and Sherlock. Molly had humoured him as he fought to put a vase with a flower in it amongst the myriad of covered dishes. She hadn't even asked when he'd slung a pristine white tea towel over his arm and headed off on his mission with a spring in his step and whistling to himself. She'd shaken her head at him and told him to do whatever he wanted, but not to piss around so that the food went cold. She hadn't used those words exactly, though he was sure the sentiment was there.   
  
Molly had piled the trolley with enough food for four and shooed him out of the kitchen while she set about filling their own dishes. If she thought Greg hadn't noticed the giant mouth-watering slices of cake she'd quickly concealed underneath the shiny domes, she was much mistaken. He couldn't deny she was crafty though. Sherlock might not want to eat, but he needed the calories and he was bad as the rest of them when it came to his sweet tooth. John was the responsible one, he'd probably use the cake as leverage to get Sherlock to eat the food with actual nutritional value.   
  
Rattling his way out if the lift as he rolled over the raised strip at the entrance he realised he was whistling. Then he stopped, the empty corridor and the echo was creepy enough. With the slightly squeaking wheel and constant rattle of plates in an otherwise empty corridor, it was rather ominous and he'd started to freak himself out a little.   
  
Arriving at the right door effectively distracted him from his train of thought and he knocked on the door twice with quick sharp raps, before calling out.  
  
“Room service.”  
  
A haggard looking John opened the door and despite the very obvious ticking of his eye, he looked relived to see Greg.   
  
“Greg, thank god.”  
  
“’sup, mate?”  
  
John didn’t speak, but effectively answered when he stepped aside and let the door swing completely open. Sherlock was sitting up in the bed, his face regal and serene. Greg mumbled “shit” under his breath, that was the reason then. The only time Sherlock managed to look like that when he was being a pain in the arse and he knew it.   
  
“Ah shit, John. Deep breaths yeah?”

“Any more and I'm going to hyperventilate soon.”  
  
“Bored, is he?”  
  
“Got it in one. He’s bored and I'm starting to feel homicidal.”  
  
“Hate to tell you, but your eye is jumping.”  
  
“I am aware, thank you very much.”  
  
Even as John looked like he was at the end of his tether, Greg was openly laughing as he nudged passed him with the trolley.  
  
“Alright you bastard, grub’s up.”  
  
“Ah Lestrade, I see you’ve finally realised your potential?”  
  
“Ah Sherlock, I see you're feeling a bit better then.”  
  
Sherlock’s words were slower than usual and Greg could still hear the rasping of his breath, but if he'd rediscovered his snark then it really was a good sign.   
  
“Astute as ever, I see. It truly is a wonder you manage to discover anything if that is the extent of your observational prowess.”  
  
“Yes, yes, inept Detective Inspector Lestrade must bow down to the superior greatness of the wonder that is Sherlock Holmes.”  
  
“See John, I told you one must become ill before people begin to realise the value of one’s contribution.”  
  
Sherlock looked at John with such a kingly air that Greg looked between them for a few moments like he was watching a tennis match. That or watching as two people prepared to fight to the death. He could see John was trying, he really was, but even John had to reach his limit at some point. It was clear a little distraction was in order. Greg looked at Sherlock again and re-evaluated, perhaps a bigger distraction was needed. He needed a big opening to catch his attention, never mind a big finish.   
  
“Gentlemen, for your taste bud’s pleasure this evening, I bring you chef Molly’s gastronomic delights!”  
  
With a bow and a flourish of his arms, Greg whipped the silver domes up and away from the food they covered.   
  
“Voilà!”  
  
Greg knew just what Sherlock had spotted first when he groaned, a truly indecent sound to make at any time, but even more so at the prospect of cake. When Greg glanced up, Sherlock’s entire focus was on the slab of cake he’d uncovered. He didn't even seem to notice the light that shone in his eyes as it reflected from the shiny metal in Greg's hands, and the light was dancing in a quite distracting fashion surely blinding him in the process. When Greg dared to look at the cake again he had to fight back the urge to snatch it up and run away with it. Granted it wasn’t the most rational of responses, but as least he didn't actually do it. He was proud of himself for that.  
  
Sherlock was practically drooling, but the most critical thing was that he was no long speaking and pushing John off the edge. Nothing spilled from his lips, no cried of boredom, no comments aimed with the express purpose of gaining him a response. There was just blessed silence.  
  
John was staring at Greg like he’d just handed him the keys to the kingdom. Slowly Greg stepped back towards the door, placed the covers carefully on the sideboard, trying to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible so he didn't break the fragile spell that seemed to have overcome Sherlock. Greg threw a wink in John’s direction and received a mouthed “thank you” in return as he stepped back out of the room and pulled the door closed after himself. Before he even had the chance to move away from the room, he knew the spell was breaking as John’s exasperated raised voice filtered from behind the door. He couldn't hear Sherlock, but John’s side of the conversation was plenty.  
  
“Sherlock Bloody Holmes, get your arse back where you were. Stop glaring at me, you are not scrambling out of bed to try and get cake .......and no whinging that it’s not just cake, but Molly’s cake doesn't change anything......I'll make a deal with you, you eat real food first and I might consider letting you have the whole thing.”  
  
Picking up his feet and patting himself on the back at a job well done, Greg jogged back in the direction he’d come from. After all, his own dinner and partner were waiting for him. The thought did cross his mind that he should probably have listed Anthea before food in his priority list, but she’d understand. The stakes were high and in fairness, she’d probably have made the same call. 

  
                                                                                      -----(000)-----

  
Mycroft and Anthea sat at the table watching the door like hawks. Anthea wanted to start eating as soon as Molly had slid a dish onto the table in front of her, but when she’d picked up her spoon she'd received a sharp tap on the back of her hand and Molly had promised more pain if she even thought about starting without Greg again. So there she sat, concentrating hard enough on willing him through the door that she was surprised he didn't just burst into existence in front of her. Maybe if she kept up her efforts she'd have more luck in the future. It was at least worth a shot, she had seen information that suggested she might not be barking up the wrong tree completely. Ok so the information was sceptical and old, but you couldn't blame a girl for trying.   
  
Finally Greg arrived and Anthea pleaded with her eyes for him to move faster. All the while she cast surreptitious glances at Molly, waiting for the cue that she could dig into the steaming bowl of temptation before her. Anthea caught Mycroft doing exactly the same as she, even if he was a little more subtle in his approach.   
  
Greg slid easily into his seat and it was though that action was needed to cause Molly to nod once. That nod was apparently the starting pistol they’d been waiting for as they dived in with such enthusiasm that manners seemed to disappear out of the window immediately. Groans of pleasure were made around full mouths and quickly working jaws. Greg and Molly looked from their partners to each other and with simultaneous smiles they began to eat as well.   
  
A good five minutes passed without any conversation passing around the table, only the faint music filtering from the kitchen broke up the sounds of cutlery on crockery. When bellies started to feel the relief of sustenance filling the empty voids, the urgency faded to be replaced by the odd comment. Mainly supplied by Greg or Molly, but still the mood was comfortable and unstrained. Exactly what Anthea and Mycroft needed.   
  
Eventually Anthea joined in the conversations around less hurried mouthfuls.  
  
“Did John and Sherlock get settled?”  
  
“Oh yeah, Sherlock’s set up like a king and John’s running around like the dutiful manservant.”  
  
Small snorts of laughter sounded at that, each of them easily being able to picture the scene exactly as Greg described.  
  
“I don't know how long John can handle it to be honest. His eye was twitching. John Watson, daredevil adrenaline addict and Sherlock wrangler’s eye, was twitching. Sherlock needs something to keep him entertained before John smothers him or something.”  
  
Mycroft watched Greg intently as he spoke, clearly taking on board what he said and formulating a plan accordingly.   
  
“I have just the thing to keep my bother entertained.”  
  
Leaning forwards slightly, Greg waited for Mycroft to continue, but he wasn't terribly surprised when Anthea finished for him, as she and Mycroft made plans. This time Greg got to watch their volleying conversation, and it was fascinating to see as always.  
  
“The info on the cannibal? See if he can work out where he’ll be?”  
  
“Exactly. Tomorrow when the first flight departures begin, I want everything we know or suspect of his movements to be passed to Sherlock and John. Give Sherlock the puzzle and let’s see if he has any more luck solving it.”  
  
“No worries, I can get everything he needs quickly. I can get it done tonight if you want?”  
  
“Tomorrow is soon enough, tonight we all need to sleep.”  
  
“I’ll be his contact if you want. Chances are he's going to need more when he starts to see patterns and needs more data.”  
  
“Assign someone to him, I suspect he is going to require more attention during his search than either of us is capable of giving at the moment. You know how he gets should we not be providing the attention he believes he requires or deserves.”  
  
“Very true, no worries, I know just the person.”  
  
“Anthea, I do not know whether I should be more concerned for this poor soul or you, especially considering the frankly disturbing look that just passed across your features.”  
  
Anthea just laughed and it did nothing to appease either Mycroft, or Molly and Greg who were watching the pair intently. Mycroft merely shook his head and then yawned deeply again.   
  
Molly watched as the stress and tension was wicked away from Mycroft and Anthea by hot food and undemanding company. She had to bite her tongue while watching him eat, she wanted to shout at him for letting his hunger reach this point. It was quite evident nothing had passed his lips since she'd fed him breakfast all those hours ago, and even then he hasn't eaten a vast amount, but she was wise enough to know that the last thing he needed was her nagging at him.   
  
When bowls began to reach empty, Molly excused herself and left the table to slip into the kitchen. Eyeing the serving dishes she weighed the volume they'd hold and then just grabbed the pot directly from the stove along with the ladle she'd left in it. Forget fancy, forget worrying about propriety, it was about filling empty stomachs not which cutlery to use or who was watching and judging, because there was no judging with family.   
  
Despite having already removed six generous portions from the pot it was still more than half full and rather heavy. Greg was right, she really did have a problem cooking for small numbers. It always made sure the freezer was full at home so there was always real food available when either of them got home late. A pang of longing rolled through Molly at that, she wanted to go home. She missed it, the peace the quiet, the safety and Toby. She missed the littlest member of their family more than she thought possible. She trusted Anthea when she said he was being well taken care of, but she still missed his rumbling purr and steady weight as he settled in for snuggling. As she trusted Anthea regarding Toby’s care, Molly trusted Mycroft to take care of everything else and knew he was doing it as quickly as possible. Hefting the pot and making sure she had a proper grip on it, she carried it quickly back to the dining room and the people that waited there.   
  
Molly automatically refilled the bowls without even bothering to ask if seconds were wanted. Even Greg, who’d managed to spend the day picking at food in the kitchen held up his bowl for more.  
  
They settled back into the familiar comfortable silence. Dishes were emptied for a second time and Molly soon produced slices of cake which were devoured with glasses of milk. It was quite something to see the head of the British government, milk moustache and all eating cake with the glee of a child.   
  
When the meal was complete, Molly and Greg made Mycroft and Anthea stay as they were. Their protests that the cooks shouldn’t clean were quickly shushed when Molly put her foot down, she was having none of it. The last thing they looked fit for was standing at the sink. In fact they looked dead on their feet, their eyes barely staying open and rolling in their heads.  
  
Placing her hands on Mycroft’s shoulders, Molly leant her meagre weight on him to keep him in place.  
  
“Stay. Strategise, relax, whatever, but you aren’t coming into that kitchen. You can however text Kat and tell her that there is plenty of food and to come and help herself. I’ll put dishes in the fridge, all she’ll have to do is heat it.”  
  
Too relaxed and full to argue anymore, Mycroft conceded with a nod and tilted his head to the side to brush his cheek against the top of Molly’s hand. Leaving he and Anthea, they disappeared into the kitchen chatting happily and Mycroft immediately missed Molly’s presence. Anthea stood from her seat and moved around the table to sit at his side.  
  
“How much am I giving Sherlock?”

“Everything Anthea, you know as well as I that anything less and he will know and be insufferable. More insufferable should I say.”  
  
The yawns were back with a vengeance, one eye closing as her shoulders lifted and her head tilted back, mouth wide with the ferocity of it. She finished with a squeak and it left Anthea blinking rapidly and then opening her eyes wide as she tried to blink away the moisture that had gathered at the corners. She gave up and rubbed at them with both hands. Mycroft just watched her compose herself whilst trying to avoid the inevitable response it had caused in him. When she’d done, Anthea tipped towards him and her head landed on his shoulder.  
  
“Just gonna stay here, you’re comfy. Aren’t you worried he’ll take on too much?”  
  
Mycroft didn’t mind Anthea using him as a human leaning post, it wasn’t the first and it was unlikely to be the last. After all they spent a lot of time travelling, and once the work was completed, there wasn’t much else to do but catch as much sleep as possible before it was time to go again. There wasn’t a great amount of room for stretching out in the back of one of the cars and they’d both had to sleep in worse circumstances in the past.  
  
“Of course I’m worried. However, if he is furnished with anything less than what he considers to be everything, it would cause more problems than just giving it to him in the first place. We shall just have to apologise to John as we have to trust that he will moderate Sherlock’s behaviour as much as possible.”  
  
“We’re asking a lot of John, Mycroft. I feel like we need to help more, but I just don’t know how to make it work.”  
  
Mycroft sighed deeply and Anthea tilted her head to look up at him before patting his thigh in support.

“All we can do is monitor the pair of them. Neither of them will react well if we try to limit their involvement. It would only make them more obstinate. Do whatever you have to Anthea, you have my support no matter what.”  
  
When Anthea didn’t answer him, or acknowledge him at all, Mycroft chanced a look at her. With his slight movement, Anthea slid forwards slightly and leaned more heavily against him. When she snorted and grunted slightly, Mycroft knew she’d fallen asleep. Waking her seemed like a very selfish thing to do, so he stayed still. Listening to her breathe he felt his own breaths becoming deeper and falling into rhythm with hers. Soon Mycroft felt his own head nodding as his eyes closed. He could still hear the sounds of Molly and Greg in the kitchen laughing and the clanking of pots. With his eyes closed it almost sounded like they were at home, leaving them closed he vowed to stay awake, he was just listening and that was easier with his eyes closed after all. Less distraction that way, just resting his eyes, waiting for Molly then they’d go to bed. It wouldn’t be long and they could go get sleep. Even his thoughts started to slow down becoming sluggish and abstract, but one thing stayed at the front of his mind, repeating over and over again. Even as his own head dropped sideways and collided gently with Anthea’s. Yes, just resting his eyes.

Greg came out of the kitchen half backwards, walking in Molly’s direction, but his torso twisted to look back into the kitchen.  
  
“Mol.....?”  
  
“Shhhhh!”  
  
Molly held her fingertip to her lips and stopped Greg in his tracks with an arm across his chest. She urged him to be quiet and pointed in the direction of their sleeping loves. He stuttered to a stop and did as she requested, albeit slightly confused and showing that confusion Greg followed the line of the finger Molly pointed, and even he couldn’t hold back the “aww” that left his lips. She barged his arm with her shoulder and frowned at him, at least her eyebrows did because her lips were smiling as widely as his. Greg stage whispered at Molly, speaking exaggeratedly from the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Think we’d get in trouble if we took a picture? They’re so damn cute!”  
  
“You can take one, but I will deny all knowledge when they find it and you know they will.”  
  
Greg looked back to Anthea and Mycroft, slumped together as they were the temptation to actually take that photo was almost irresistible.  
  
“We’d best wake them up before I actually take that picture. Come on Mol, you get yours and I’ll get mine.”  
  
Greg walked up to Anthea and tapped the top of her head with his palm.  
  
“Wakey, wakey dearest.”  
  
Anthea came awake with a start. Well, awake may be too strong a word. She was semi cognizant, her mouth not quite cooperating to make the words she wanted, more slurred sounds than anything tumbled from her lips. Molly couldn’t see her expression, but as Greg had moved to her side, she’d turned her head and tilted it as far back as it would go to look up at him. Whatever she was trying to say Greg seemed to understand enough of it.  
  
“I know you were comfy. Yes I’m sorry I had to wake you up. Time for bed, let’s go.”  
  
Greg helped Anthea to her feet and she took a few clumsy stumbling steps in the wrong direction. Greg looked at Molly and rolled his eyes before putting his hands on Anthea’s shoulders and physically turning her in the right direction.  
  
“Night, Mol. We’ll see you both later.”  
  
In the short moment it had taken Greg to speak to Molly, Anthea had managed to wander a few steps from Greg’s reach and was heading almost in the direction of the door. Greg had to hurry after her and just before she managed to collide with the door frame he grabbed her again.  
  
“Not that way, love. I’d prefer not to have to answer mystery bruising questions in the morning if you don’t mind.”  
  
Anthea wavered again, and Greg seemed to give up. He spun her around and without ceremony threw her over his right shoulder in a fireman’s lift. When he straightened, Greg saw Molly looking at him.

“Trust me, this is quicker. I leave her on her own and she’s going to bounce from one side of the corridor to the other and it’ll take us an hour to make it back to the room.”  
  
“No, I was just thinking it would be convenient if I could do the same with My. He hasn’t even moved and we’ve not exactly been quiet.”  
  
“Do you want me to come back and help? I’ll just tip her onto the bed and come back, she’ll never notice.”  
  
Molly waved off Greg’s offer quickly, he might be dead to the world, but Molly knew several ways of waking up an overtired and sleeping Mycroft Holmes. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to wake him up from slumped over and sleeping somewhere he shouldn’t be in order to get him to bed.  
  
“Nah, thanks though. I’ve got this. Just watch her head on doorways and stuff, yeah?”  
  
Greg dared to look innocent as he tightened his right arm around her legs and patted her behind with the other.  
  
“I swear to god, that happened once and neither of you will let me forget that.”  
  
“Greg, I was on the other side of the house and I heard the thump. You’d best hurry up anyway, all the blood will be rushing to her head. Night, night.”

“Night, Mol.” 

Greg turned around and walked to the door, leaving Molly watching Anthea bounce with Greg’s steps. Her hair had come completely free of the twist she had it in to hang down over her head and her arms dangled loosely pointing straight at the floor. As Greg turned into the corridor Anthea let out an extremely unladylike snort and started to snore.  
  
Molly snorted with laughter and turned to her own sleeping beauty. She walked towards him, approaching his back. She waited to touch him until the last moment, sliding her hands over his shoulders to wrap around his chest. Pressing close she brought her lips close to his ear.

Pitching her voice low, she whispered in his ear.  
  
“My, nap over, time for bed.”  
  
It was never the words that woke him up, she could have said anything. It was all about the way she said it. No matter how deeply asleep he was, just the right pitch and tone of voice was enough to have him rising back to the surface on consciousness. Molly stayed wrapped around him from behind, but gently ran her teeth over his ear lobe before drawing it between her lips. Mycroft moaned deep in his chest and his arms came up to cover hers. She moved her head enough to lay a line of kisses behind his ear and down his neck.  
  
“I’m awake.”  
  
 “You are now. Come on, let’s go get comfy.”  
  
Mycroft nodded and Molly released him only long enough for him to get out of the chair slowly, before setting herself at his side and taking his large hand in both of hers. She tugged him from the room, or at least she lead the way and Mycroft followed her happily even as his eyes started to droop again.  
  
“Not far, love. Just keep your feet moving. I can’t pick you up like Greg did Anthea.”  
  
“How long?”

“Asleep? Not long enough to worry about, you’ve still got plenty of time to sleep properly.”  
  
Molly kept pulling Mycroft until they finally reached their room. While Molly unlocked the door, Mycroft crowded close against her back and buried his nose in the hair on the top of her head. He was reluctant to allow her further away when the door swung open, he wrapped his arms around her waist and though it made walking clumsy she didn’t tell him to stop. Once they were in the room, Mycroft kicked the door shut and leant back to turn the lock, sealing them in their cocoon. Flicking one of the light switches by the door he managed to get the one that switched on the bedside lamps, bathing the room in a dim but warm glow. Together they made awkward progress to the bed.  
  
Mycroft wanted to drop onto the mattress as he was and even started to do so, until Molly grabbed the back of his trousers and stopped him.  
  
“Ah ah ah. Strip first. We’ll both be more comfortable without your suit in the way.”  
  
Molly turned a whinging Mycroft around and rubbed her hands over his covered chest before pulling his tie loose and throwing it to the corner of the room. Digging her hands into his trouser pockets, she emptied everything she found, phone, money even though she didn’t know why he had it down here, random pieces of paper that she didn’t need to know the contents of and a chocolate bar wrapper. Why that hadn’t gone in the bin baffled her, but chances are he’d been eating on the run. She placed everything on the bedside table and went back to her task. Making quick work of his buttons, first on his waistcoat and then his shirt Molly pushed her hands through the opening and ran her fingers through the hair on his chest.  
  
“As soft as your suits are, I much prefer your skin.”  
  
Molly kissed the centre Mycroft’s exposed skin and stripped him of his layers and threw them into the same corner as his tie, she caught the pained look in his eyes as he followed their path, but he didn’t say a word about their treatment, too tired to truly care enough to argue. Finally free of the confines of clothes, Mycroft fell back onto the bed with loose limbs. He didn’t close his eyes, fighting off the insistent need in order to watch as Molly stripped to join him.  
  
“Speed is of the essence, Molly my dearest.”  
  
It wasn’t a strip tease by any stretch, but whether she intended it or not, no matter how she moved Mycroft found it irresistible. He moved up the bed, rolling and wiggling in a rather effective if undignified manner so that he could get his head on the pillows, he ended up on his side on the far side of the bed, facing the wrong way and lying on his left arm. He contemplated moving but just couldn’t be bothered, where he’d landed was just going to have to be good enough.  
  
Molly saw Mycroft flailing around on the bed and just shook her head. Mr British Government, so tired as to resort to a state that would make him shudder if he was any more alert. Molly loved seeing it though, not him being as tired as he was, but the vulnerability. Grasping the bottom of the duvet, Molly pulled with all her might trying to free it from under Mycroft’s prone form.  With a grunt and a heave it finally slid free, only it happened a little more abruptly than Molly had anticipated leaving her flying backwards and landing on her rear with a squeak of surprise. Molly knew Mycroft was still awake when she heard him laughing.  
  
“Oh Mr funny guy, why was I struggling if you’re still awake? If I have carpet burns on my ass you are in trouble.”  
  
With his head buried in the pillow his words were muffled and Molly couldn’t hear whatever it was he was trying to say. She got to her feet again and rubbed at her abused bum cheek.  
  
“My, I’ve no idea what you’re saying, I’m going to choose to believe it’s that you are very sorry, you didn’t mean to laugh and thank you for making sure my arse doesn’t get cold in the night.”  
  
He made a series of noises that could have been agreement and lifted his free arm and waved it around in a manner that he hoped Molly would understand as “please come here and join me”. Thankfully Molly did understand, flicking her wrists she made the duvet cover the bed and Mycroft in one go, the breeze as it settled was cool enough to make Mycroft shiver a little. There was a gap between the duvet settling and Molly getting in bed, but soon enough the chill was gone as she climbed under the cover with him. Snuggling against his back and wrapping an arm around his waist she rubbed her face between his shoulder blades.  
  
“Oh yeah, I get to be the big spoon.”  
  
Mycroft’s only answer was a snore and she knew she’d be getting nothing more from him. Molly allowed her eyes to close and let herself drift off, happy with the knowledge that they had eight whole hours until the alarm she’d set on Mycroft’s phone dragged them back to the chaos.

 


	34. Frayed Nerves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't say how sorry I am that it has been so long since I last posted a chapter of this. Life went a bit chaotic after some rather unexpected changes all for the better, but I'm just finding my feet now. Please forgive the wait and I hope it was worth it. Thank you to everyone who's been with me since the beginning and those who've taken on the reading of a really really long fic recently. I love you all and wish I could give you all hugs to say thank you. As always I couldn't do any of this without MyCitrusPocket, she knows how important she is to me, like the sister I never had. I love you Gumbie. So with a bit more grovelling and begging of your forgiveness here's the next chapter. Any mistakes left are completely mine.

Anthea stood silent and alert as she waited for Mycroft to appear. She knew it would only be a matter of moments until he came striding down the corridor towards her so she stood perfectly still and waited for the sounds of his footsteps. Fresh from a night’s sleep, Mycroft would adopt his usual timetable so she’d be ready to work just the same. It was time for them to move from being on the back foot, a position where none of them were comfortable, and instead stride towards doing what they did best. That was where they were dangerous, a veritable force to be reckoned with in fact. Calling Mycroft as he had, Anthea couldn’t help but believe that Hunter Emmerson had made one hell of a mistake. He’d underestimated Mycroft, basing his actions on what he knew of the man Mycroft had been twenty years before, but he was no longer that man. Mycroft had changed; he had been through a great number of learning curves over the years and through necessity he had morphed into the man he needed to be. Anthea hadn’t known Mycroft then, she’d been too young, but she knew the man he had become and couldn’t for one moment believe that if Hunter had known what he was facing, that he would have continued with his insane plan. Mycroft would meet the challenge with nothing but the most ruthless vigour, she knew him well enough to know that for Mycroft there would be no accepted outcome but to emerge the victor.

 

Anthea couldn’t contain the flash of glee that passed through her, the adrenaline already starting to pump through her veins at the prospect of the dangerous excitement that was coming. It was a strange feeling and she’d discussed it with a few others and they had described a similar sensation when about to enter a conflict zone. The thrilling rush that made the mind race, the pulse quicken as you worked yourself up to take on whatever was thrown at you. Anthea loved it, the clarity it brought and the ability to make snap decisions without questioning if the decisions made were the right one. Taking away the luxury of time in situations so charged could go either way, either they would be right or they would be wrong, but there was no time to dwell and all actions must be forwards.

 

Before she could ponder the thoughts running around her head anymore, Mycroft appeared like an impeccably dressed force of nature. Anthea knew that suit, he wore his navy pinstripe three piece and was garbed for war as well as if he’d actually donned a suit of armour. In a way she supposed he had, he was a knight fighting for the good of all of them he just didn’t have to be clad in metal to do it. As Sherlock liked to remark, the game was on.

 

Anthea fell into step with Mycroft effortlessly as he drew level with her, lengthening her stride to if not match his, then it at least allowed her to keep up with his long legged gait.

 

“Morning, Mycroft. You’re looking dapper and refreshed this morning.”

 

Mycroft slid his eyes sideways to her and then looked her up and down taking in everything about her with the quickest of glances.

 

“I could say the same, it appears we are coordinated. It is a wonder what the luxury of a full night’s sleep in the company of your significant other can do.”

 

“You’ll get no arguments from me on that one. I’m a little surprised there were no incidents in the night though. You didn’t get a call, did you?”

 

“I did not. It appears the right man was in charge. Though we shall see on our arrival is the night was as uneventful as it appears.”

 

“Have faith, Mycroft. There’s a reason you picked him in the first place.”

 

“True enough, Anthea. True enough.”

 

As they left the living accommodation and neared the operational suites, the conversation slowed whilst their paces remained steady. Shoulders were braced as work personas took over and slid into place.

 

Anthea allowed Mycroft to take the lead right as they reached the room so that he entered ahead of her. His imposing presence immediately filling the room; bodies drawing to attention and turning to face them, awaiting instructions, possibly without even being aware they were doing so. Kendo was the last to turn, marginally slower than the others, but with just as much respect. The conversation he was engaged in being put on hold for the moment as he raised a hand and halted the man he stood with. He murmured a few words and stepped towards Mycroft and Anthea, determination in his steps. Their greetings were brief and perfunctory, a courtesy not a necessity.

 

“Boss.”

 

“Kendo.”

 

Anthea nodded a greeting to Kendo and flashed a quick smile before walking away and leaving them alone. She had enough waiting for her and she figured they'd like to conduct their conversation in private, if there was anything she needed to know Mycroft would tell her in time.

 

“An in uneventful night, or was I correct in believing you to be the correct man to leave in charge?”

 

Kendo eyed Mycroft carefully, swearing he could see the smugness that Mycroft didn't allow to broadcast in his voice. After all he may not be able to hear it, but there was no way in hell it wasn't there.

 

“Shall we say there was nothing sufficiently untoward that I wasn't able to deal with it. If that’s what you mean?”

 

“That is exactly what I mean.”

 

“Then I’ll make the handover as quick as possible. Everything seems to be running to plan, which in itself makes me uncomfortable, but I can't find what it is that's ringing the warning bell. Hell I've had the time to go over everything I can think of, but everything looks sound. Much more so than other gigs we've run with anyway. Your teams followed their instructions and completed their tasks perfectly. Anyway, there's an hourly log and overview of the shift I've prepared on your desk, which should I hope fill in any gaps. Is that everything boss?”

 

Mycroft held back the smile that threatened to escape. Not only had Kendo performed to Mycroft's expectations, he had indeed surpassed them. There was indeed a bright future for him in management if he so chose to pursue it, Mycroft would make sure of it.

 

“You have my thanks, please do continue your preparations. Your shuttle leaves in three hours I believe?”

 

Kendo’s exit came with just short of a salute, which always made Mycroft feel a little fraudulent. He was a leader yet at no point had he ever been a member of the armed forces. Merely the thought of such a thing was enough to have him shuddering. He thrived in his world that existed in the shaded areas; no, Mycroft Holmes would not have done well in such a rigid environment with rules of another’s making. He was more than pleased with the path he had taken in life and would just have to accept that he worked with a lot of people who had served, such actions were deeply ingrained and after all is was a sign of respect. Mycroft turned back to face the rest of the room they had almost reached the point of no return and when they did Mycroft needed to know that they were doing so as well informed and armed as possible.

 

 

 

\-------------------------------

 

 

 

Anthea knocked briefly on Sherlock and John’s door, waiting only long enough to make sure she wasn’t interrupting anything. She was pretty confident she wouldn’t be given Sherlock’s recovering health, but then if Sherlock had set his mind on something he could be pretty persuasive. Using the skeleton key she possessed, Anthea let herself in.

 

The room was dim, but not so dark that she couldn’t clearly see the two forms lying side by side in the bed. Toeing off her heels, she grabbed the hem of her skirt and hiked it up her thighs giving herself more room to move as she walked towards them. When Anthea reached the bottom of the bed, she clamped the bulging A4 envelope between her teeth and climbed onto the mattress on her hands and knees. She made her way between them carefully so she didn’t squash anything delicate. When she was halfway up the bed she twisted and dropped onto her back, firmly wedging herself between their warm bodies. Taking the brown paper envelope from between her teeth, Anthea pulled a face at the taste it left in her mouth, grimacing and sticking out her tongue at the bitterness that assaulted her taste buds. Rolling left and right as far as possible she kissed the back of John’s head and Sherlock’s temple.

 

“Good morning, my loves.”

 

John grumbled something over his shoulder at her that could have been a “Good morning, Anthea” but was equally as likely to be “Piss off, Anthea.”. John was not so much of a morning person. Sherlock wasn’t asleep though and was lying staring at the ceiling, he didn’t extend a verbal greeting, but moved his head on the pillow so that his curls mingled with Anthea’s hair. He extricated an arm from under the duvet and silently placed it over Anthea’s between them. With Sherlock returning to himself, Anthea was shocked at his display, but she happily took his fingers in hers.

 

John shifted a little and tried to drag the covers further over himself, making Anthea rock back and forth. As far as she could tell, it didn’t actually make a difference to the amount of cover he clutched to his front, but she wasn’t going to mention it; especially since he’d started to snore again.

 

“I brought you entertainment.”

 

“There’s no need to whisper, John is fast asleep again. Sleep, damn it! All that’s happening and he sleeps!”

 

“Hey, hey. Stop it. Now you’re up, I’ve brought you everything we know about Hunter Emmerson. We need you to find him. All we know is that he’s in Chile. Mycroft’s team are just about to start flying out, but we need to know where to send them from there. Think you can help?”

 

Sherlock scoffed loudly and then coughed a few times at the irritation the noise had caused his throat.

 

“Yeah, ok. Stupid question I guess. Anyway, there’s this file and that phone over there.”

 

Anthea deposited the file on his stomach, knowing that it wouldn’t be long until he give in to the temptation and opened it.

 

“You have to stay here though. You’re still not well enough to be gallivanting around in your usual style. You need anything else you call me and I'll get it for you, but you're not to leave this room. No slipping past John when he nips to the loo, no sending him off to get you something so you can escape, nothing. You got it?”

 

She could almost feel Sherlock building up to argue back. He wasn’t stupid but he was stubborn, if not the most stubborn man she’d met, he had least made the top three and all of them were in the same building.

 

“It’s my condition, Sherlock. If you don’t stay, I’ll take all the fun things away and you’ll be stuck here and won’t get to play with us. Don’t make me tell Mycroft.”

 

Sherlock snorted, a scoff that clearly said that he didn’t find that a threat in the slightest. Anthea knew that there was nothing left to do but pull out the big guns.

 

“Fine, but remember you pushed me and brought this on yourself. If you don’t follow the rules, I’ll tell Molly and then she’ll come here and lecture you more effectively than me or your brother ever could.”

 

Anthea turned her head to look at Sherlock properly and found him frowning at her. They held the eye contact for a moment longer than would have been comfortable with anyone else, but between them was just a familiar battle of wills. He had no immediate come back and even he couldn’t lie that boldly to her face. Not when she was close enough to see all the minute tells on his face.

 

“Touché.”

 

She grinned back at him all teeth and squinting eyes, her satisfaction at the victory clear on her face.

 

“I know right? I win.”

 

“Don’t for one moment believe that this is over.”

 

“Never Sherlock, but I believe the score at the moment is 16-15 in my favour?”

 

“We agreed! You’re still counting Vladivostok, that was a tie at best. I will not concede! Either we both get a point or neither of us do.”

 

Anthea reached her free arm over to pat Sherlock’s chest gently.

 

“I was right and you were wrong, that’s a point to me no matter how you look at it.”

 

Anthea knew she had to be careful, she couldn’t wind him up too much, but it would do Sherlock good to get back to his usual self.

 

“I was not wrong.”

 

“Well you weren’t right either now, were you?”

 

“Idiotic game.”

 

“Only when you’re not winning. Just think of it as incentive. Right I have to go, your brother is waiting.”

 

Anthea giggled and fought to claw her way out of the hollow between the two men. She ended up straddling Sherlock on all fours and looking down at his unimpressed petulant face as he scrunched his features into a moue and glared at her.

 

“Yeah, yeah I’m moving, Sherlock. If I didn’t know you, I think I’d be quite put out that this was your reaction to me being on top.”

 

Sherlock gagged at even the thought of “relations” with Anthea and shook his head vehemently as though trying to dislodge any image that had taken up residence there. Anthea laughed at that, it was hard not to after all. There wasn’t much that made Sherlock squeamish, clearly her comment had been sufficiently cringe worthy for him and took that as another victory. She might not be able to add it to the tally she shared with Sherlock, but she had another she kept up in her head. Actually she had many, but the others didn’t need to know that. It just kept things interesting for her.

 

“God, Sherlock, don’t have a stroke, I’m moving. Call me if you need anything else. I’ve no doubt Greg and Molly will be joining you later too.”

 

Anthea lowered her head closer to Sherlock’s even as he started at her suspiciously; waiting to see what she was going to do. Dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper she winked at him before speaking.

 

“Put them to work, my little genius and milk it while you can.”

 

Sherlock stopped frowning at her than and for a moment let a devious smile show.

 

“That’s my boy.”

 

Quicker than Sherlock was able to avoid, Anthea dropped a kiss onto his forehead, mainly because she couldn’t quite help herself. She climbed the rest of the way off the bed without jostling Sherlock and the sleeping John too much and left the room without another word.

 

“’appened in Vladivostok?”

 

Sherlock rolled his head on the pillow to look from the closed door to John at his side.

 

“Pardon?”

 

John flopped onto his back, freeing his words from the muffling effect of the pillow with seemingly great effort landing with a huff and groan, before dragging at the duvet until it was tucked quite happily under his chin. With a last wiggle and groaning stretch, John sighed contentedly before responding to Sherlock.

 

“What happened in Vladivostok and when were you there?”

 

“Two years ago, you were in Ireland.”

 

“So you do notice when I’m not at home. That’s good to know, but what are you avoiding telling me? Why was Anthea right?”

 

“Always notice. It’s stupid, it wasn’t even relevant to the case! Why would I notice what Mycroft was doing?”

 

Now John was confused, which wasn’t in itself unknown when it came to trying to follow Sherlock. It was often like trying to understand a detailed conversation between multiple people but only being able to hear one side of the conversation.

 

“You’ve lost me. Try again, please?”

 

It had taken some getting used to, the process of distilling information just to the pieces he knew John would see as the important parts. Especially since they seemed to differ wildly on those details he himself considered to be pertinent.

 

“Vladivostok, Mycroft, Anthea, me. Mycroft texting, Anthea said to Molly, I disagreed. Neither of us was correct. He was texting a lackey regarding something to do with Molly. Despite her inaccuracies, Anthea insists on claiming the victory. But if she can claim victory whilst being incorrect then so can I.”

 

“Really? I hadn’t realised they’d been together for that long.”

 

“That’s the detail you’re focusing on?”

 

John yawned and looked at his watch, sighing when he saw the time. Not enough to roll over and go back to sleep in a desperate bid to avoid the rant Sherlock was working up to.  Seeing as there was no avoiding it, managing it seemed like the best course of action left to him.

 

“Well, technically, yes you were both wrong, but in fairness Anthea was closest.”

 

“There are no degrees of wrong, John! She was wrong, if I must be without a point then so must she.”

 

“You’ll just have to be right next time, but at least it’s a long running game. Maybe you’ll have the chance to gain on her with this one. Never mind that, how do you feel? You didn’t cough as much.”

 

John rolled the rest of the way over until he lay on his side facing Sherlock as he lay rigid in the bed staring at the ceiling. John allowed himself the luxury of watching Sherlock for a little longer, just taking in his elegant silhouette in the darkened room. The only light available seeped in from beneath the en suite bathroom door, but it was enough for now. He waited a little longer trying to garner as much information as he could without the benefit of light to help him. Knowing Sherlock as he did, John knew he would ignore as much as he possibly could in order to carry on, and though he didn’t want to bully Sherlock, he would push him if needed to make sure he wasn’t straining himself too much. His breathing was much, much better than John had dared to hope. It wasn’t great, not by any means, but he was coping well on his own without much intervention. His voice was almost his own again, his cadence slightly off in line with his modified breathing rhythm. Occasionally Sherlock seemed to lose words mid sentence as he was forced to cough, but it was encouraging progress all the same. John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s cool shoulder before pressing a kiss to his bicep.

 

“I am, fine.”

 

“Tell me if you’re not, ok? I know you want to work and I won’t try and stop you now, but if I think, even for a minute that you’re doing too much later? I will put my foot down.”

 

John waited for a moment, trying to anticipate Sherlock’s response. He wasn’t sure if there would be an argument, if he’d try and push back against John’s rules or if he’d agree without question. The last one was a long shot he knew, but surprisingly John maintained his optimism far longer than anyone would have believed possible. When John watched the silhouette nod once, he thought he may have imagined it. However, when Sherlock turned his head to look at him and didn’t immediately burst into a soliloquy as to why John was wrong and he’d do whatever he wanted, John had the serious desire to buy a lottery ticket.

 

“You’re going to want to turn the light on in a minute aren’t you? I can feel you starting to fidget and I can hear you flicking at the file. Go on then, turn it on.”

 

John squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the light to flood through his eyelids all the same. He was just grateful Sherlock could only reach the bedside lamp and not the main light, he had the feeling that might have been just a little too much. He didn’t need to open his eyes again to see what Sherlock was doing, he could hear him. The happy thinking noises and the rustling of sheets of paper the new soundtrack to John’s early morning. The longer John listened, the more relaxed he became. The pillow beneath his head was ridiculously comfortable and the sight of Sherlock in front of him calmed him to the core; so surrounded by familiar sounds John began to doze lightly. It wasn’t real sleep, more the highly relaxed drifting zone, that promised either sleep was on the way or he was about to get up properly. It didn’t matter which way he was heading, not really, it was just nice to float there for a while before the force of nature that was Sherlock really wound up to full bore.

 

 

\------------------------------

 

 

Anthea quietly opened the door to the operations room and let herself into the darkened room. Shutting the door behind her, she sealed out the world once more. On quick feet she walked along the back of the room and took her seat next to Mycroft. There wasn’t much they could do but observe the proceedings, but Anthea had known that was where she’d find him, ensconced in his comfortable, leather cinema style chair and watching over everything that happened with shrewd eyes. Though he didn’t shift his focus from the moving images on the variety of manned stations around the room, Anthea knew he would eventually address her directly.

 

Together with the largest image on the main screen that dominated the majority of the wall, there were smaller individual consoles manned by technicians working diligently. Anthea watched the live footage direct from Heathrow Airport as it screened in front of her, the numerous security cameras throughout the terminal acting as their eyes. However, much as they had wanted to secure the airport with teams of their own people, as they would do with any other operation, it just hadn’t been an option. If they wanted to flood the airport they would have been forced to include the security teams and police on site, far too many people than they could risk entrusting the safety of Kat and the team to. So this was their option, remotely monitoring and controlling all that they could, given anonymity by the distance between the locations.

 

Switching to looking at Mycroft, Anthea’s eyes traced his as they moved rapidly from screen to screen. He followed the progress of both people and information alike with a concentration that caught all movement and the smallest of details.  Facial recognition software was running at high capacity, highlighting and capturing each face as it appeared on screen. Features mapped and run through every database they had access to simultaneously. They searched for anyone suspicious, though more specifically anyone who may pose a threat to the operation. Any face that met a specific set of criteria was highlighted by the computer and moved to one of the smaller stations for a waiting technician to investigate further. Though the programme vastly limited the workload requiting actual human interaction the sheer number of people they needed clearing through the system remained large.

 

Despite the limited time scale, each person already at and entering the airport was scrutinised thoroughly before either being dismissed as none threatening, or being escalated for another person to review the highlighted issue. Should it be required anyone whose details activated enough of the alarm bells would be brought to either her or Mycroft’s attention. Each time a tech indicated he or she needed the attention of a superior, Anthea’s heart jolted and jumped into her throat, just waiting for that moment when her fears became reality and an imminent threat to the team was discovered. So far, whether by luck or otherwise, they’d not come across anyone who triggered that level of response. They had, however, identified one self modelled gangster previously thought to be either dead or residing on the Spanish Riviera; A single female drug trafficker, who thankfully didn’t show any affiliations to any of the South American cartels or their operation. They had also noted a suspected sex offender wanted in question with fifteen counts of sexual assault. Anthea took particular delight in having him discreetly picked up after a call to the relevant police apprehension teams. Anonymously of course, but then to certain people, Anthea’s “anonymous” persona was a known and trusted source of information.

 

This was a portion of the mission that, despite the extent of their reach, they hadn’t been able to control. The public provided far more variables that they were able to predict. Anthea had previously instructed teams to complete detailed checks on the entirety of the airport staff looking for any kind of suspicious activity whether in life or in their bank accounts, no one knew the extent of Hunter Emmerson’s influence. He had power and money, his almost successful terror attack proved that. It was not a stretch to anticipate that he would at least attempt to infiltrate the locations they would be forced to utilise in order to leave the country in their pursuit of him.

 

Somewhat surprisingly, they’d uncovered no signs that Emmerson had managed to gain any foot-hold at the airport, whether he had tried or not was perhaps something they would never know. Knowledge meant they could prepare and anticipate, without that opportunity Anthea felt uneasy, but she was confident in Mycroft. Where he led she would follow without question. His reputation and knowing him as she did was enough to quell the jitters.

 

Anticipation hung heavily in the air as they waited for Max and Kat to arrive and take centre stage. As soon as they exited the taxi they would dominate the centre screen. Of course it was just any taxi carrying them; they had more than just large black town cars at their disposal after all. However, as soon as Kat and Max exited the relative safety of the vehicle, they would have to be on alert, until Kendo arrived they were alone especially vulnerable. Support was off site and waiting, but it wouldn’t be immediately available should anything happen.

 

They had tried to offset the danger as much as possible, Anthea had made sure that passport control’s computer systems were being closely monitored from another room, expert teams watching for any signs that someone was trying to view who was leaving the country, for any sign that the identities they travelled under had been compromised. As per Mycroft’s instructions the papers they travelled under were brand new, backstopped perfectly, but still virgin as far as things went. Custom created for the mission, with no known affiliation to each of the travellers. There should be no alerts associated with their use, so any efforts to identify the team would have to be broad sweeping and general, which in itself gave them another layer of protection in their anonymity.

 

Anthea’s musings were interrupted by a call from the operational controller. She called clearly over her shoulder in Mycroft and Anthea’s direction.

 

“ETA two minutes.”

 

The woman didn’t wait for a response from them, had neither desired nor required one before realigning her attention to the front of the room and the camera angles that shifted to pick up the arrival and subsequent progress of Kat and Max as they moved through the terminal. They would be observed from the moment they stepped from the car until the last step they took onto the plane. From that point, until they collected supplies from Mycroft’s contact they would be on their own. There would have been more worry involved if it had been any other team embarking on the mission, the assembled group were used to working alone and accepted the risks, sending them together provided a level of security none of them were used to.

 

“Anthea, if you wish to watch, you need to face the screens.”

 

She jumped a little when Mycroft did speak and blinked her way back into the room, before twisting her body back to sit properly in the chair.

 

“Ooh, I haven’t missed the trailers have I? I should have got popcorn.”

 

“You are a strange creature, Anthea, and I’ll never believe anything else.”

 

“Possibly, but it’s a good strange. They made good time in traffic though.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“At least we didn’t have to try and negotiate the M25, it’d have taken a week. I swear the devil himself controls that.”

 

“Once, Anthea. You got caught in traffic on it once.”

 

“Because someone said it’d be fine and I didn’t need to use the helicopter.”

 

Anthea lifted her eyebrow at him, indicating just who was to blame for the occasion in question. As she spoke though, she watched as the taxi they’d been waiting for drew to a halt at the taxi rank. It was a few moments until the door closest to the kerb opened and Max stepped onto the path outside the doors.

 

“It’s Showtime.”

 

 

 

\----------------------

 

 

 

As soon as she stepped out of the lift from visiting the chefs in the main dining room, Molly could hear the distinct sounds of raised voices. Raised voices she knew very well. She couldn't hear the exact words being spoken from where she was, but given just how far the room was from the lifts, that she could hear them at all was a concern. Picking up her feet she practically ran towards the room she knew it would be coming from.

 

When Molly skidded to a stop at the doorway to the room, she was greeted by chaos. Sherlock was sitting up on the bed glaring at Greg, who stood positively vibrating with anger and frustration in front of a giant map. Molly had no idea what was going on, but it was clear damage control was required.

 

Her eyes skipped around the room quickly trying to work out what was going on. Covering a vast portion of the wall was a large map comprised of many sheets of printed A4 paper stuck side by side to reveal a very detailed map of Chile, containing areas circled in red pen which seemed to match the one Greg was brandishing like a sword in Sherlock’s direction. None of them seemed to register her arrival and she was given a damn good look at what the problem was within moments.

 

“Gavin, are you completely unable to follow the most basic of instructions?”

 

“Listen you bad tempered bastard, give me coordinates. Don’t just wave your hand while you shout vague partial details at me.”

 

“I am providing the information you need, if you don’t do anything with them how is that my fault?”

 

“Why the fuck do you always have to do this? There aren’t many people in the world who’ll deal with your shit, Sherlock. Hell, half of them are in this room right now.”

 

“Forty percent actually.”

 

Greg jabbed the pen in repeatedly at Sherlock, his arm rigid and a complete look of exasperation on his face. They’d been working at trying to put together all the information they’d been given into some sort of coherent picture for hours, the tensions rising with each minute that passed. It had been inevitable really, that eventually one of them or even both of them would step passed posturing and deep breaths. It had rumbled along steadily enough no more than usual, but Sherlock had pushed too far at nerves that were already torn.

 

“That right there is exactly what I’m talking about! Don’t you get it? We’re trying to help you for Christ’s sake. For once could you just treat me like a human being and not some trained monkey?”

 

“If you want to help, do as you’re instructed. You are no help to me if you insist on behaving like the imbecile you claim not to be.”

 

Greg had taken another step towards Sherlock and they glared at each other bristling in anger. The stress throwing caution and intellect to the wind and dangerously loosening tongues.

 

“Can you not, for once just be human? You’re a great man Sherlock, but I’ll be damned if you’re not doing your best to prove me wrong in thinking you’re a good one.”

 

Sherlock was silent, he’d stopped responding but Greg couldn’t seem to stop the words spewing from his mouth. His brain was telling him to stop, begging him to in fact, his mouth though didn’t seem to want to listen to sense. He was careening down the slippery slope completely out of control.

 

“Every damn time, did you know that? Every time we try to help, you have to belittle our efforts, you just can’t help yourself. Do you even know you’re doing it? Do you?”

 

John had stayed out of it to that point. Maybe too shocked to do anything, perhaps not expecting it to get as far as it had, who knew. It was shocking to see Greg teetering on the edge of a complete loss of control. John knew it was the stress talking, making Greg say things would never give more than a fleeting thought to, if at all. Greg wasn’t a cruel man, not even close, but Sherlock could push a saint to acting out of character.

 

Sherlock would probably never give the outburst another thought, he was that focussed on the puzzle in front of him that it would just fall to the wayside with all the other unimportant details and hold no grudge, but Greg? He was a different matter altogether. He’d regret his words as soon as he finished saying them. John had no option but to try and jump in and stop everything before it went too far to be salvaged.

 

“Greg! Sherlock! Stop it, right now. Enough both of you, you’ve said enough don’t you think?”

 

All three men’s head snapped towards the door at the feminine cough that interrupted the flow better than anything else could have.

 

Molly looked quickly between the two and then to John who’d pushed himself up from his chair on the opposite side of the room.

 

“Erm, gents?”

 

“Ah Molly, perhaps you can save us from the mind numbingly pedestrian efforts of my current companions.”

 

It didn’t take a mastermind to see that they’d clearly been working on whatever it was they were doing for quite a while. Judging by the very palpable tension in the room it seemed like Molly had arrived just in time. She heard Greg taking slow deep breaths by her side and knew she had to do something, and quickly.

 

“Hey, hey. OK, I think everyone needs a minute to calm down. Sherlock, you’re on time out for five minutes. Greg, before you burst a blood vessel or something, go take a walk. John, you’re supposed to stop them getting to this point.”

 

John had the good grace to look at her sheepishly and wince, feeling like a naughty schoolboy who’d been caught misbehaving by his mum.

 

Molly shook her head and watched as Greg threw the red pen he’d been holding onto the bed, narrowly missing Sherlock in the process and with a low grumble in the back of his throat a very frustrated Greg stomped from the room. Molly could only wonder just how long Greg and Sherlock had been biting at each other, but it had to have been quite a while for Greg to be as annoyed as he was, He was usually one of the few people who managed to keep his cool no matter how Sherlock was behaving.

 

“When did you get here, Mol? How much did you hear?”

 

“I just got here, just in time it would appear. I could hear you all as soon as I got out of the lift. What the hell is going on? Have you all lost your minds? We don’t have time to bite at each other, there’s far more outside these walls that needs our attention and we need to stick together.”

 

Sherlock seemed to decide he wasn’t happy not being at the centre of attention and started to fidget, shuffling on his rear and looking like he was trying to sneakily make his way to the edge of the bed. She levelled him with her sternest look and pointed her finger at him.

 

“Sherlock Holmes, keep your arse in that bed or so help me God, you’ll regret it. Time out means you don’t speak, don’t argue and don’t move.”

 

“Molly! I do not have time to deal with incompetence. It is up to me to locate the man who orchestrated the attempted kidnap of your person, a terrorist plot and it trying to ruin the Holmes family. His actions will not be tolerated and as such it must come down to me to save us. I do not have time for a time out.”

 

“You have time for what I say you need, young man.”

 

“You are well aware Molly, that I am actually older than you.”

 

“Only in years, Sherlock.”

 

“That makes no sense. John she’s doing it again.”

 

John looked to him again, sliding his eyes from one of them to the other. John was no fool, what Molly said went. So he shrugged at Sherlock.

 

“If you just listen to Molly and keep your mouth closed, it’ll be over quicker than if you keep fighting it.”

 

Realising he wasn’t getting any support with his argument, Sherlock lapsed into a reluctant silence. His lips may have been together but his glaring eyes spoke for him well enough.

 

Molly watched him carefully from the corner of her eye seeing if his silence would hold, before turning to look at the wall of information more closely. She scanned it all quickly eyes flitting from the map to the other miscellaneous papers tacked to the wall around its perimeter, facts and figures, building schematics, geological data. All, Molly was sure, vital information as far as Sherlock was concerned  for whatever it was he was looking for. At the top of the wall, in a position she knew she’d have needed a ladder to get to, was a photograph of a man. She searched his features carefully, looking for any hint that she recognised him at all.

 

“John, is that him? Emmerson?”

 

Molly shifted her body slightly, only enough to just bring John into her light of sight. She saw him look up from the papers he held in his lap and then glance from her to the image on the wall before nodding.

 

“I thought he’d be…more. I don’t know. He just looks normal I guess. Bad guys are supposed to look it, aren’t they?”

 

Molly shrugged a little, lost as to how to verbalise what she was thinking. The man, she didn’t want to give him a name. A name would make him human and Molly didn’t want to allow him that courtesy. As far as she was concerned he was an animal and she wouldn’t think of him as anything else, no matter how amenable and jovial he looked.

 

John let Molly contemplate and listened to her comments, weighing the best way to answer.

 

“A pretty face can hide a lot, maybe he was different then. It’s an old picture, back from before he was supposed to have died. Who knows what happened over the last twenty years.”

 

“Don’t make excuses for him John, he tried to hurt us. I can’t forgive him for that, no matter what he’s been through.”

 

John dropped the papers he’d forgotten he held onto the bed and walked to stand next to Molly. Sherlock shuffled slightly on the bed to catch John’s attention and flicked his eyes from John to Molly and back with uneasy concern on his face. Sherlock might not know exactly what to do with Molly’s distress, but he’d made progress over the last few years and was now able to recognise that Molly wasn’t quite right.  He gave Sherlock a small smile to show he understood the unspoken instructions “John, help Molly.”. He wrapped his arm around Molly’s shoulders and pulled her to his side as she slid her own arm around his waist.

 

“I’m not making excuses for him, Molly. I hate him. For what he did to you, for trying to take Sherlock from me, for the whole damn lot of it. But I’ve seen what war and conflict does to people. He’s probably not the same man he was when that photo was taken. I’m just saying that back then, when Mycroft knew him he might have been a good man, but are any of us the same as we were twenty years ago?”

 

Molly rested her head on John’s shoulder and nudged her head against him in thanks for his support. She knew what John was saying was rational, but her rationality was slipping when it came to the subject of the man in the picture.

 

“I still don’t like him.”

 

“Me either, Mol. Me either. You ok?”

Molly had to think about that, she just wasn’t so sure. The part of her fuelled by bravado ensured her she was fine, but the other wasn’t quite so sure. Both sides however, agreed that she definitely wasn’t “not ok” and that was good enough to keep her going.

 

“Yeah, I’m good. Catch me up?”

 

“Well I can’t tell you what’s going on in his lordships head, but apart from that we’re trying to work out where to find Emmerson. Mycroft gave us all of this, Greg and me are trying to help Sherlock.”

 

John looked at Sherlock over his shoulder to where miraculously he was still silent on the bed. Unnervingly still as he just watched John and Molly cautiously, as though moving would break whatever fragile threads were holding the things he barely understood together. John threw Sherlock a reassuring smile and turned back to the wall.

 

“I don’t know how much we’re actually helping, but at least we’re doing something.”

 

Sherlock piped up from the bed, now apparently feeling secure enough in the situation that ending his enforced silence was just too much to handle.

 

“Your presence is valuable in supporting my process.”

 

“And that, Molly is as high a level of praise as I think we’re ever going to get. Sherlock just give Greg a break when he comes back, alright?”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed himself further up the bed after he’d slumped down from his seated position leaving him closer to lying down.

 

“Are we finished with emotional matters? There still remains a large amount of work for me to do and you are both blocking my view of the wall.”

 

John and Molly sighed in unison before bursting out laughing and breaking the last of the tensions and things settled once more. Molly didn’t look back to the picture of the smiling man, she didn’t need to. With the help of John and Sherlock she’d aced that demon and could move past it stronger than she had been.

 

“Suppose that’s us told, John. Don’t think I don’t know that you haven’t done your full time out Sherlock.”

 

“Ridiculous concept, Molly.”

 

“Yet effective.”

 

Sherlock wouldn’t look Molly in the eye, instead thrusting the sheaf of papers he held in her direction.

 

“Read these, I find this “person’s” opinion tedious and redundant. You will find the pertinent information from amongst the drivel and recount it in a manner that does not make my mind bleed due to their stupidity. You should be able to manage that.”

 

Molly chose not to take offence where she was almost certain none was meant. If she squinted, she could almost believe there was even a compliment in there somewhere. Just as she was about to take the papers from Sherlock she heard heavy footsteps moving down the corridor, getting louder as they approached the room. The noise proceeded a fleeting glance of Greg as she stomped passed the room where he paused, looked like he was about to join them again and then muttered to himself shaking his head and carried on down the corridor and away from them again.

 

“Sherlock, I think you finally did it. I think you finally broke Greg.”

 

Molly watched the door with a slightly shocked and bemused look on her face. She waited for Greg to come back again. She didn’t think it would be that long until he did return, but then she hadn’t thought it was going to be as long as it had been already, if she was honest. But he would come back, Sherlock had been driving him crazy for years, but he forgave him every time. She held out her hand and blindly waved it around until Sherlock huffed and moved the papers so that her distracted fingers finally found them. She said an absent minded thank you and brought them around to see what it was Sherlock wanted her to read. It was a psychological report about psychopathic narcissists. Well one suspected one at least.

 

“Sherlock, you know I’m not a psychologist. I don’t know how much I can do with this.”

 

“I’d question whether the person who authored that document was trained either. Find me the pertinent information Molly, that is all.”

 

With a shrug, Molly picked a place to sit and joined Sherlock at the head of the bed and settled herself comfortably against the pillows next to him with a wiggle. It would probably have been easier if they’d been able to move to some kind of conference room, but moving Sherlock probably wasn’t for the best. John and Sherlock had made the best of things and moved as much of the furniture around as possible to clear the space for

 

\-----------------------------

 

Greg was angry, no not just angry, he was as frustrated as hell. At Sherlock certainly, but with himself as well, he should know better. He did know better. He was embarrassed by how quickly they’d escalated from Sherlock’s standard behaviour, to shouting at each other in a way that was most definitely not the norm. Greg supposed it had to happen eventually, but he could have picked better timing. He didn’t feel great at having shouted at Sherlock, sick bed or not, it was up to Greg to keep them interacting like adults and he’d failed in that. He had a chance to be involved again and he’d lost his temper to a point where he wasn’t sure just how far they would have gone without Molly’s involvement. Under no circumstances would it ever had reached physical violence, it just wasn’t in his nature, but a lot of damage could be done with words alone.

 

Greg paced the corridors on heavy feet, feeling the blood pumping through his veins and making his head throb painfully. Rubbing his hands over his face repeatedly, he tried deep breathing and every other technique twenty years in the police force had taught him for maintaining calm. Each and every one failed him when he felt he needed it most though, so he just kept walking and turning corners, not paying attention to where he was going or what he was passing. It wasn’t long until all of Greg’s left turn’s brought him back to the scene of the crime. Stopping at the open door he even tried to go back inside and face the music, but his temper was still too close to the surface. With a shake of his head and muttering under his breath, Greg forced his feet back into moving and hoped that maybe one more lap would do the trick.

 

He’d taken two more corners when he heard the phone in his pocket ringing. He was tempted to ignore it and had he been anywhere else and had it been his normal mobile he would have done. Instead he pulled it from his pocket and with tense shoulders pulled up and started at it as it rang.

 

Anthea had received a call that something had happened in Sherlock and John’s room as soon as it had spilled out into the corridor with Greg storming off. With a look to Mycroft she’d stepped from the room and commandeered a side office and using her passwords logged into the security camera feed. She found him quickly enough and recognised the signs of his agitation. Looking at her watch she wished she could get away, to go to him and help fix whatever it was had happened to have him stalking the corridors like a caged animal, but there wasn’t time no matter how much she wished it. The best she could do in the circumstances was a phone call as unsatisfying as it ultimately was. Still watching Greg, Anthea hit speed dial, settled in the chair and sandwiched the phone between her shoulder and ear as it rang.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Greg, what are you doing gorgeous?”

 

“I’m walking.”

 

“I can see that, but why? What’s wrong?”

 

Instantly Greg’s shoulders lowered and some of the tension he’d been carrying slipped away. Added guild however settled on them at hearing the concern in Anthea’s voice. Now he felt sorry for her clearly having to take time out of her busy schedule to talk him through what was clearly a minor crisis in comparison to everything else.

 

“I shouted at Sherlock. Lost my temper and yelled at him. I’ve never done that before, Anth.”

 

He’d stopped walking without realising it and just stood in the middle of the corridor holding the phone to his ear. He looked around him, but he wasn’t surprised to see nothing but empty space and the ever present security cameras. Stepping to the side of the corridor, he put his back to the wall and let himself slide down until his bum hit the floor and stretched his legs out in front of him. Tilting his head back against the cold wall he closed his eyes and let the sound of Anthea’s voice do the work that walking and breathing exercises hadn’t.

 

“It can’t have been that bad Greg, it’s you and I know you, love.”

 

“No, it was bad. I couldn't shut my mouth. ”

 

Greg heard Anthea sigh sympathetically in his ear, he knew all of her sighs and there was no mistaking the subtle differences between them. Even though she was no doubt busy she didn’t seem to resent having to support him, he wasn’t sure what he’d have done if he had heard it in her voice.

 “Everyone is tense and we’re a bunch of highly strung individuals right now so there was bound to be an argument at some point. It’s no surprise Sherlock was involved some how. Now you’ve cleared the air it should be a bit easier.”

“I know it was inevitable, but I honestly didn’t think it would be me that broke first. I’m not even sure it was an argument to be honest it was more me shouting at him and him just looking up at me as I ranted. God, Anth.”

Greg banged his head against the wall in frustration at his own actions. Playing the image of Sherlock looking up at him over and over in his head and he’d swear each time Sherlock looked more and more like a kicked puppy.

“Stop thinking about it, you can’t change it and you can’t hide in the corridor forever just to avoid Sherlock you know.”

 

“Are you sure? It’s pretty comfortable here.”

 

“Greg, you’re sitting on a cold floor. You stay there long enough you’ll get stiff and I’ll have to come and help you up like proper old people. We’ll even make oof noises to prove we’re in our dotage. Also, the longer you stay away you know Sherlock will just whinge that you weren’t there do to his bidding when he wanted.”

 

Greg would have loved to argue, but when she was, without a doubt right there wasn’t much of an argument he could make that would convince either of them. There was no avoiding the fact that he could already feel his bum going numb.

 

“I’m getting old, not you. You’re my trophy wife, are you ready to push my wheelchair yet?”

 

“Nah, you get to that point and I’ll hire nurses to look after you and spend my days flitting away your fortune and spending my time with the pool boy.”

 

“No problem, it’s good you’re planning for our dotage. You’ll just have to remind me to make my millions and get a house with a pool. Can I have a pretty nurse in a short dress though?”

 

“Well I do have one outfit I’ve been saving for a special occasion you might like.”

 

At Anthea’s words, Greg opened his eyes and glanced up and down the corridor, as though even if there was anyone around they’d be able to hear her voice on the other end of the phone.

 

“Bloody hell, Anth. How am I supposed to focus with an image like that in my head? At least tell me you’re on your own?”

 

“Yeah, I’m on my own, when they came to tell me there was something wrong I stepped out. But you’re relaxed now, aren’t you?”

 

“Well I’m a different kind of not relaxed. Not sure which is worse.”

 

“Aww my poor Detective Inspector. I’m good for it, I always pay my debts.”

 

Greg rested his hand on his head and scrubbed his fingers through his hair roughly. He was only putting off the inevitable by keeping Anthea on the line, she was busy and he should be too. He wasn’t angry anymore, he was just avoiding doing what he needed to.

 

“That you do. I suppose I have to go back, don’t I?”

 

“Yep. Just say you’re sorry, don’t expect Sherlock to say it back and just carry on as you were. It’ll be fine, he’s probably not sure what the hell happened anyway.”

 

Greg hummed down the phone noncommittally and dropped his chin to his chest, really not wanting to move.

 

“Greg, get up you look like a hobo.”

 

“Fine, fine I’m moving. It’s no fun when you can see me not doing what I’m supposed to be.”

 

“Love, you just assumed I couldn’t know that the sink was full of dishes and you had the football muted on the TV.”

 

“Shit, do you have cameras in the damn flat?”

 

“No, but like I said, I know you. And thank you for confirming it.”

 

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

 

“Yes. Now up, I’ve got to go, but call me if you need anything ok?”

 

“Thanks Anthea. I love you.”

 

“I love you too, I’ll see you later.”

\---------------------------------

 

 

Molly was halfway down the second page of dense text when Greg reappeared in the doorway. He wasn’t muttering under his breath anymore and his face had lost the alarming shade of red it had sported. Molly’s concern over the state of his blood pressure lessened somewhat at that. She watched the men carefully with surreptitious glances at first and then settled for less than stealthily looking directly at them over the papers she held. Not exactly spy stuff, but luckily Sherlock and Greg were too busy weighing each other up to notice what she was doing. The body language that each displayed was different but both were clearly as uncomfortable as the other. Surprisingly Sherlock seemed to be the tenser of the two and he looked to be in a slight panic as he sought eye contact with either John or Molly, whichever one of them would offer him the support he needed.  Molly caught his gaze and smiled reassuringly at him and nodded, trying to convey that everything would be fine. He tipped his head slightly and Molly saw him swallow as he watched Greg move closer. 

Greg hung his head staring at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck roughly as he shuffled from foot to foot. When he realised what he was doing he planted his feet firmly and forced his hand back to his side. Taking a few steadying breaths he made himself look Sherlock in the eye.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper and said such horrible things. Can you forgive me?”

“You are forgiven. Now enough time has been wasted, shall we continue?”

Sherlock visibly relaxed and regarded Greg haughtily, looking much like a lord addressing a serf. That was until without looking up, John coughed pointedly from the other side of the room, verbally nudging Sherlock into action. He clearly understood the instructions he was given by the put upon expression he wore, but he didn’t necessarily want to follow it.

When he hesitated too long for John’s liking he did look up at Sherlock, his displeasure at having to push the issue further plain on his face. He didn’t have to say anything , his meaning perfectly clear without adding words to the mix.  

Sherlock finally gave in and with surprisingly little argument.

“I also apologise Lestrade…. Greg.”

“God, Sherlock. How about we don’t get all emotional and freak ourselves out, eh? Give me the pen and let’s get back to it, shall we?”

That was all the discussion they needed to have on the issue. They’d let it drop, the brief exchange enough to appease them both and move passed it, the air cleared and it would remain so. The argument was over and that was that. Molly let herself relax back into the cushions and prepared to immerse herself in the hard going paragraphs feeling much like she had at Uni when preparing for an exam. She even had the same nauseous feeling in her stomach at the prospect of delivering her findings as irrational as that was. Then again, Sherlock was perhaps more intimidating than even her professors had been. 


End file.
